Chapter 2: Chapter 2
He’d died in his forties in the house, under mysterious circumstances, and the house had passed on to others. First, his brother, Basil, then ultimately Basil’s children, then grandchildren. It had still been called Dexter Manor, even by Basil’s family.
From the history I’d seen of it, Dexter Manor had not been lived in for the previous five years or so; the last person living there had been a friend of one of Basil’s grandchildren. It was the grandchildren who had apparently finally decided to sell the manor. It would need a bit of work, but I was up for the challenge.
And that, of course, was the plan. I would work on getting the house ready for us to live there, and Mace would continue residing in Los Angeles until it was ready to be fully occupied. I had an architecture degree, plus a construction business license, and knew my way around fixing up houses, and “tinkering with things,” as Mace would say.
There was no reason for him to leave his job with the police in LA until I had things ready. By next spring, though, we’d get married, Mace hoped to retire from the police department, and we’d live full time here. We had dreams of buying a small shopfront on the Embarcadero and selling Mace’s paintings and my handcrafted designer jewelry. But first we had to get Dexter Manor settled, and that meant buying it. Word was that they wanted a fast sale. With luck, I’d be in the house by the end of October.
There was a knock at my door, and I realized my room service had arrived. I opened the door to a young man, pushing a cart with two trays and a coffeepot with cream on it.
“Good evening, sir. Would you like me to put it on the desk?”
“Yes, please.” I allowed him inside the room. “Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“How familiar are you with this area?”
The man, probably in his early twenties, placed the trays on the desk. “Very. I was born here.”
“Great. You know Dexter Manor, then?”
The coffeepot rattled as he set it down. “Uh.”
“Well?”
“Yes, sir. Of course, I do. Everyone knows that old place. Why would you want to know about that, sir?”
I nodded. “I’m here to look into buying it.”
He shot me a glance that seemed to indicate I had two or three heads or something. “That old place? It’s pretty run down.”
“But that’s part of the charm. I’m pretty good at restoring old houses. I used to do that down in LA.”
“This is no LA.”
I laughed. “I know. But that place has a lot of history.”
The young man shrugged. “I guess so, if you’re into that. But the rumors…never mind. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
He handed me the delivery slip and I signed it, writing in a tip.
“What rumors would you be talking about”—I noticed his name tag—”Charlie?”
“Every small town has its haunted house, I guess, sir. Since I was a kid, well, that’s what they said about Dexter Manor.”
“Yeah?” I asked, bemused. “Who is supposed to haunt it?”
“Dexter Larabee, himself, sir.” Charlie shrugged and pushed his cart toward the door. “Just leave the dishes in the hallway when you’re finished and someone will come by for them.” He paused at the door. “He’s supposed to have hanged himself there. Or so that’s what I’ve heard.”
“In what room?”
“His bedroom, I guess. Over a lover who dumped him. Some old-time Hollywood director, they said.” Charlie wrinkled his nose. “I’m trying to remember his name. Can’t quite think of it, though. Anyway, I always heard they had a big fight that night in the house. The director left, vowing to never go back, and Dexter hanged himself. Funny thing was…”
“What?”
“It was the director who found him. So I guess he did go back after all.” Charlie shook his head. “Anyway, weird noises have come from that place ever since. Always been that way, I guess.”
“Did you ever know the other members of the family? Basil Larabee’s branch?”
“I’d seen them around but never talked to any of them. Last one was Michael Larabee, but he left here when I was still in high school.”
“Okay, thanks, Charlie.” I took a ten dollar bill out of my wallet and handed that to him on top of the tip for the delivery. “I appreciate the history.”
“Sure. Enjoy your stay. Good night.”
And Charlie was gone.
I locked the door and considered what he’d told me. It was true a lot of towns had old houses kids would say were haunted. I’d not heard anything like that about Dexter Manor in all my research of the place. Google and other sites, and even with the real estate agency. Even old sites dedicated to Dexter Larabee never mentioned him haunting the place. Or, for that matter, the fight with a lover that ended in suicide.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone