Page 1 of Never Been Gargoyled (Harmony Glen #4)

Dazy

M y car gave one last wheeze and died right at the entrance to Winterbourne Estate in the pretty little town of Harmony Glen.

“Come on,” I grumbled, turning the key.

The engine coughed like Betty—my car—was laughing at me.

“Not now.” Through the windshield, the sprawling house loomed at the end of a long gravel drive. In the moonlight, it looked more like a haunted mansion than the fresh start I'd been hoping for.

Two sides of a wrought iron gate hung crooked in front of me, barely blocking the entrance. Vines wrapped around the bars and were doing their best to eat the crumbling gatehouse on my left.

Beyond the gate, the grounds were a mess, tangled brambles and overgrowth everywhere, with only hints of old walking paths peeking through .

Great Aunt Helga used to tell me stories about these gardens when I visited her at the nursing home. How they'd been gorgeous, full of rare plants that drew visitors from all over. Hard to believe it now.

Staring at all this overgrowth, I couldn’t imagine something beautiful ever blooming here.

But Great Aunt Helga had left the building and the land around it to me. After I got laid off from the greenhouse, I figured it was time to claim my inheritance, even if it meant moving halfway across the country.

At least I owned it free and clear. She'd even left me money to fix the place up. There was only one condition. To claim the estate as my own, I had to live in the building, which wasn’t a problem. I liked old things, and I wasn’t afraid of hard work.

Oh, and she’d told me to ignore any weird noises the house made, especially on the roof. She'd actually written that into the will.

Great Aunt Helga had always been a little eccentric. It ran in the family.

Leaving Betty to think about her life choices, I got out and pushed the rusty gates open, the hinges screeching in protest. My body screeching in protest along with it. I might be big (I preferred the term plush ), but I was strong. I’d proven it more than once in my job at the greenhouse.

The air on the estate grounds felt different, heavier, somehow.

Still, I climbed back into my car and drove onto the estate, pausing to sort-of close the gates behind me.

Someone would have to move them if they hoped to drive their own vehicle inside.

Foot traffic could pass but who would bother to trespass?

Only kids on a dare. Or ghosts, I supposed.

A shiver tracked through me at the thought. Great Aunt Helga once said she thought the place was haunted. I was about to find out if that was her dementia speaking or the truth.

I drove the car up the drive, weaving around downed tree limbs and finally getting close enough to the huge stone building I could walk the rest of the way.

A complete tree lay across the path ahead, and I shut off the engine.

It ticked as I climbed out and grabbed my bag of essentials off the back seat.

The car locks cheeped when I pressed the button, and I strode the rest of the way toward my new home. I could come back for the rest of my things in the morning.

I stopped on the crushed stone path weaving toward my new home, taking it in with wide eyes, my bags sagging to the ground beside me.

Boy, did I have my work cut out for me. My great aunt had mentioned the place needed work, but this was nearly overwhelming.

Still, it was home, the only one I had. I’d cut all my ties when I moved out of my apartment. Everything I owned had been packed into my car or given away, since the estate was furnished. There was no going backward, only forward, even if the thought of living here and fixing it was intimidating.

Lifting my arm, I tightened my fist, making a muscle, and reminded myself I was tough. I could do this.

The building sat at the top of a small hill, all dark gray stone that looked old and weathered. Three stories high and definitely imposing. In the moonlight, it looked like the kind of place that came with its own ghost stories.

Moonlight coasted across its slate roof and the tall gables, picking out bits of lichen and moss. A forest of ivy climbed one side of the structure, clawing up toward the third floor. That would have to be ripped off before it worked its way too deeply into the mortar and dislodged the stone slabs.

Faded wooden shutters clung to most of the windows, most lying askew. That could be fixed. A few windows had been boarded up, though the majority of them were intact, reflecting moonlight back at me.

A big wooden door hung in the center of the broad front porch, flanked by tall stained-glass windows. Real stained-glass windows. I’d only read about those online, and now I owned some. Me, Dazy.

Perched far above the entrance on the edge of the roof, a gargoyle jutted out like a sentinel.

Its wings lay against its back, and its snarling face tilted downward, as if it had been waiting for me.

And was thoroughly unimpressed. Uneasy, I stared up at it.

A trick of the light made its eyes gleam.

Bag in hand, I strode up the broad stone steps and onto an overgrown porch with only a few punky boards, thankfully. I’d replace those before I fell through, but the rest only appeared to need a pressure wash and a solid coat of paint.

My key wouldn’t open the front door, and that was a problem. I owned the place, but if I couldn’t get inside, I’d be sleeping in my car. Which might be the best option if the inside matched the outside. Surely my aunt had covered the furniture, and I’d find somewhat clean bedding inside a closet.

May the gardening fates be kind. They’d guided me well so far.

After all, I was here, about to restore the glorious landscape around me.

“Glorious” was a definite stretch, but even with it overgrown and crumbling around me, I adored my new home already.

With luck and lots of work, I’d open my botanical gardens to the public in a few months.

Turning, I peered around, spying a shed off to the left.

I’d bet anything there would be tools I could use to get inside the estate.

Maybe even a crowbar I could use to pry open the boarded-up window beside the front door.

A quick glance showed me the nails had come halfway out, as if someone else had tried to get in but gave up before they got caught.

A shovel could also finish my break-in nicely.

This was going to work out. Soon I’d be inside, settling on a snuggly couch with a glass of wine in my hand. I’d lift it in a toast to my new life, my new adventure.

Inside the shed that was thankfully unlocked, I turned on my phone’s light. Spying a crowbar hanging on a hook on my right, I scooted in that direction—and ran face-first into a ginormous spider web.

Shrieking and dropping my phone, my heart, and probably my brains as well, I danced around, sputtering, trying to pluck the web off my face. Praying the spider hadn’t been sitting in the middle.

Finally, I made myself stop quaking and wiggled the rest of the webbing off my fingers, shuddering while I did it.

My phone had held guard, the phone light pointing at the ceiling, outlining more webs and even an empty bees nest. I hoped it was empty.

Otherwise, I’d have to relocate the critters.

They could live wherever they pleased outside, but I drew the line with them taking up residence inside the buildings.

I picked up my phone and grabbed a walking cane someone had left by the door, using it as a sword to ease aside the remaining webs between me and my salvation: the crowbar I needed to get inside my new home.

Still shaking, I returned to the front of the house, seriously considering scooting to Betty and sleeping on the backseat. Everything looked brighter in the morning, right? That’s what all those cute memes with flowers and rainbows said.

Not buying it.

I propped my phone in a planter in desperate need of flowers, the light pointed at the boarded-up window, and got to work.

I thrust the tip of the crowbar back beneath the board and leaned back.

A groaning creak rang out, and the board gave way fast. I fell on my ass, skidding across the porch floor, picking up paint chips while I did it.

If I got a splinter in my butt, I was going to kill…

Okay, I couldn't kill anyone, not even a spider.

Still, I could seek my revenge in some other way, probably with the scraper I’d use on the porch floor.

I shook my fist at the sky in warning.

A few more tries, and the board clattered onto the porch floor, leaving a window completely void of all glass. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about getting cut trying to get inside.

I stuffed my bag through the opening.

But when I’d hitched my leg up and thrust my foot through the gap, an unmistakable male voice rang out.

“Leave this place now.”

I reeled around so fast, I fell again, this time landing hard on the board I’d removed from the window, a nail scraping my tender flesh.

My whimper slipped from my mouth before I could hold it back.

“Who’s there?” I whispered, climbing to my feet and rubbing my sore ass.

“Come out and identify yourself.” I held up my phone, sweeping it around but finding no one nearby.

“I’ve got the police on speed dial, and I’m not afraid to call them.

” Actually, 9-1-1 put all the cops on speed dial, but they might not know that.

“You should not be here,” someone growled, making me jump.

I angled my light around again, but still saw nothing, not a single soul standing on the walkway or behind the few spindly bushes to my right.

But when a scraping sound echoed from above me, like stone dragging across stone, I yelped.

Turning, I leaped through the window opening, landing hard on the other side on my plush belly, the wind knocked from my lungs.