Walnut Grove House A Cid Garrett novel by Alexie Aaron This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ~ Copyright 2020 – Diane L. Fitch writing as Alexie Aaron ALSO BY ALEXIE AARON HAUNTED SERIES in order The Hauntings of Cold Creek Hollow Ghostly Attachments Sand Trap PEEPs Lite: Eternal Maze 3.1 PEEPs Lite: Homecoming 3.2 Darker than Dark The Garden Puzzle Old Bones Things that Go Bump in the Night Something Old PEEPs Lite: Checking Out 9.1 PEEPs Lite: Ice and Steel 9.2 The Middle House: Return to Cold Creek Hollow Renovation Mind Fray The Siege NOLA Never Forget The Old House Restitution A Rose by Any Other Name The Long Game Given Enough Rope The Return Risen The Candle Book of Souls A Daughter of Nyx Sideshow Crossroads Sticks and Stones Coming Soon: Lost Child CID GARRETT P.I. SERIES Cid High Court Tiny Houses The Promise Walnut Grove House CIN FIN-LATHEN MYSTERIES Decomposing Death by Saxophone Discord The Wages of Cin Unforgivable Cin: An Opera in Three Acts STAND-ALONE PARANORMAL SUSPENSE The Knight of Pages SHORT STORIES Evil I dedicate this book to everyone embracing positive change. Sometimes you just have to reach out and grasp not only the brass ring but the brass cleaner too. Table of Contents Walnut Grove House Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Chapter Twenty-eight Chapter Twenty-nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-one Chapter Thirty-two Chapter Thirty-three Glossary Alexie Aaron Walnut Grove House “I thought I was dreaming until my bones started snapping,” the burly Norwegian plumber confessed. “I’ve had bad dreams before. They became more frequent the longer I was involved in Walnut Grove House, so I just assumed that I’d wake up intact.” “But you didn’t, Mr. Toov,” Dr. Silva confirmed. He walked over and pulled up the scans taken of Eskel Toov’s hands and arms. “I’m going to refer you to a specialist. I fear you have a long painful road of recovery in front of you, and you may never have the fine dexterity you’ve been used to…” “I’m alive,” Eskel interrupted. “I’ll cope.” “How did you become involved in this renovation project?” “My local union representative recommended me for this out of town project.” “I’m not savvy on unions, but is it normal to travel so far out of your area for a job?” “This job paid extremely well.” “I don’t fault you for taking the job. I’m just questioning why they hired contractors from so far away?” Dr. Silva asked. “I now realize that there was no way anyone in the area would take the job. Not after I heard the history of this renovation project,” Eskel said. “I went into it blind. Never again.” The doctor pulled over a chair and sat down. “Tell me about the attack and why you thought you were asleep when it happened.” “The managing contractor, Akil Zabala, insisted that we stay on the premises to cut down on travel time. Or that’s the line of bull we bought into. There were rooms over what would have been a carriage house of some kind, little apartments. And to give him credit, the rooms were outfitted with bedding, towels and a refrigerator full of beer. He had a cook to make us meals. There was no need to go into town. Had we, I would have left the moment I first heard the history of the house.” The Norwegian closed his eyes. His silence Dr. Silva mistook for sleep. But Eskel’s eyes opened before he could rise out of the chair. “I left my bed, pulled on some coveralls and boots. I moved as if called into the house’s old kitchen and over to the open wall where I had been replacing the old cast-iron pipes. The day before, there was a rattle in the wall which I assumed was either air in the pipes or pressure was causing the pipes to move. I decided to do this early in the morning before the carpenters started. I walked over and ran the water. I waited, and sure enough, I heard the noise I would associate with a pipe shaking and hitting something in the wall. I located the pipe and hemmed and hawed with the decision to open up the wall at the point of instability so I could brace the pipe.” “Why wait?” “These were old plaster walls. Very expensive to fix. Pain in the ass to cut into. The problem was also low enough to impact the expensive trim board. I made a small drill hole in the plaster and pushed a scope into it. The light would help me to find the location from the floor below because the cellar ceiling was taken out for the convenience of the many contractors doing work on the house. My thoughts were to reach up and brace it from below. I walked downstairs and didn’t turn on the light. I saw the glow from my scope, grabbed a ladder, and marked the area. Once I did this, I climbed down and turned on as many lights as possible before I went upstairs for my materials.” “Why all the lights?” Dr. Silva asked. “Old cellars tend to eat light. This house was creepy, and the cellar was something out of a B horror movie. The more light, the more I felt comfortable. I’m vulnerable when I’m working. Usually I’m stuck in a small space. I like it better when there aren’t too many shadows to pay attention to. I can hardly look over my shoulder when I’m working.” “Go on,” Dr. Silva encouraged. “I ran into one of the electricians. I can’t remember his name… Let’s call him Harry. I asked Harry to wait a few minutes and turn on the water for another few minutes so I could make double sure I had the right pipe. He nodded, pulling out a cigarette. I hustled downstairs and waited. The water ran and
