Ghost House Revenge Read Online Free Page B

dreaming,” he said softly, running his fingers through his tousled
     hair. But then he noticed the kitchen door. Could the prowler be hiding in the kitchen?
     It suddenly occurred to him that if there was an intruder, he might be armed. Derek
     wasn’t afraid, but he wasn’t about to take chances. He needed a weapon.
    Looking around, he spotted a pearl-handled pistol on the mantel. It looked like an
     antique, and Derek prayed the intruder wouldn’t know the difference. Refusing to let
     himself be frightened, he shoved through the kitchen door and switched on the light.
     The white refrigerator and oven gleamed innocently. He could see his reflection in
     the backdoor window as he moved carefully around the kitchen. No one was hiding here.
     He went to the back door and twisted the lock. It was one of those doors where one
     needed a key to get out as well as in. There had been no time for a prowler to escape—if
     indeed it was a prowler he had heard.
    He sank into a wooden chair. “I’m sure I heard something.”
    It might have been his imagination. After all, this was an old house, with creaking
     boards and drafts. He had heard some explainable noises, and nothing more. Laughing
     at himself, he stood up and headed out of the kitchen.
    The door to the basement started to rattle.
    Derek turned abruptly, aiming the gun. Why hadn’t he thought to check the cellar?
     Was that just the wind? He heard a scratching noise. The wind didn’t scratch. . .
     .
    Derek refused to be afraid. He reached and jerked the door open. His gun was pointed
     at the black, shiny nose of a puppy.
    “I don’t believe this,” Derek groaned, putting the gun on the counter. He knelt down
     and stroked the little Weimaraner’s ears.
    “How’d you get stuck down there?” he asked, wondering if a puppy’s high-pitched yapping
     could sound like laughter. “There’s a good boy. Poor doggy, locked in a cellar.”
    He peered down the stairs into the inklike blackness. “Locked in a dark and cold cellar,
     too,” he said. He stood up and beckoned the dog. Lad followed him from the room. Derek
     returned the gun to its stand on the mantel, then headed upstairs, Lad at his side.
     Feeling somewhat embarrassed by the incident, he decided to keep it to himself. Afraid
     of a little puppy!
    He had no idea that Lad hadn’t barked once that night.
    The therapy room was completed just a few days later.
    “It’ll be best to get your muscles toned,” Derek said as he fastened a cushioned leather
     cuff to Gary’s left ankle. “Once you’re used to this equipment, you can move on to
     bigger and better things.”
    “Like walking, I hope,” Gary said. His leg moved up and down with little difficulty,
     the cable squeaking from newness.
    “Let me add a little more weight to that,” Derek said. “It looks too easy.” He added
     a ten-pound weight. This time Gary groaned when he moved his leg.
    “Pretty soon,” Derek said, “you won’t feel it. For a guy who broke both legs, you’re
     in pretty good shape, Gary. Say, nobody ever told me the details of your accident.
     If you don’t mind, I’d be interested.”
    “They didn’t tell you what kind of injury you’d be dealing with?” Gary asked impatiently.
    “Of course,” Derek said. “But part of therapy is knowing how the accident occurred.
     I want to know on a professional basis, but if you feel uncomfortable about it, then—”
    “No, it’s not that,” Gary said. “It’s just that we don’t like to talk about it. Let’s
     just say I came into one of the rooms up here one night and found a prowler. We had
     a fight, and he pushed me out the window. That’s all you need to know, isn’t it?”
    “Probably,” Derek said, wondering why Gary was so reluctant to talk about the accident.
     He decided it was some family matter and did not pursue it.
    Gary asked when he would be able to start using crutches.
    “I want to warn you,” Derek said, “practicing with