The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) (27 page)

He didn’t know if it was day or night, but he was so hungry he decided to find the kitchen. He would wait until it was dark and quiet, then forage for food.

And if, in the meantime, he found a little gray mousie or a big brown rat, or even a fly or two, he would eat them alive. His mouth watered at the thought. He was so hungry, so very hungry. The Harlequin had no idea how long he had been traveling in the maze of dark tunnels, but he’d had nothing to eat in what felt like days.
 

Luncheon Town

“This is your car?” Belinda ran her hand over the sleek little Aston Martin parked in a secluded corner of the massive garage beyond the swimming pools.
 

“You like it?” Grant Phister asked.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a Vantage Coupe, Hammerhead Silver and Obsidian Black interior. She’s my baby.”

“James Bond drives an Aston Martin,” Belinda said, trying to keep herself from asking how he could afford it.

“That’s right. I’m a big fan; that’s why Eric gave it to me for my 35th birthday.” He held the door for her.

She climbed into the little roadster and inhaled leather and a ghost of new car scent. He shut the door then came around and folded himself down into the driver’s seat. The engine revved to life and Grant slowly pulled out of the slot and started down the long parking garage. There were two rows of spaces and most were filled. “There must be twenty cars in here,” Belinda said. “Are most of them Mr. Manning’s?”

“Oh, more than that. Some are Mr. Manning’s, but the employees, both live-in and commuting, park in here as well.” He turned right and as they drove toward the barn-like garage doors, he pointed out a red Mustang. “That’s Mr. Manning’s. He loves American muscle cars. He has a Dodge Charger that Walter is currently working on.” Grant slowed and pointed farther down the row. “If you look that way, you’ll see his rebuilt cars. The green one is a 1969 Camaro ZL1 - there were only 70 built. And the black one next to it is a 1970 Plymouth Barracuda.” He began driving toward the door again.
 

“Is that Mr. Manning’s hobby, restoring cars?”

Grant laughed. “No. Among Walter Hardwicke’s other talents, he’s an excellent restorer.” He pressed a button on a remote and the garage doors began sliding open. Though the vast building was well-lit, the day beyond was so brilliant and sunny that Belinda immediately put on her sunglasses.
 

Walter Hardwicke was out front polishing the back end of the black Lincoln Town Car. He looked up and nodded. Grant nodded back.

“Oh, look at that!” Belinda said as they passed a pair of old-fashioned gas pumps. They were yellow and red and emblazoned with Richfield logos. “Are those just for show?”

“No, they’re real and they work. If you look around the garage sometime, you’ll see all sorts of Route 66 memorabilia - another of Walter’s hobbies. These came from a station somewhere in California.”

“Get your kicks on Route 66?” Belinda smiled.
 

“Indeed.”

As soon as they were on the road that led down to Devilswood, Grant opened up and let the Aston Martin zip down the hills. It was, Belinda thought, the perfect ride.

***
 

After all the fine dining she’d done at Ravencrest, the bacon cheeseburger was a deliciously greasy change. Belinda looked over at Grant, who was eating the same, and could tell he was enjoying it, too.

After picking up her prescription, Grant had asked her what she’d like for lunch.
 

“You’ll think me tasteless,” she’d said, “but I’d love a burger.”

He said he knew just the place, and he did.

They sat in a booth at the far end of an old mom and pop diner called Luncheon Town. The place was clean but poorly lit and the smell of fried onions and cooking oil pervaded the cafe.
 

Belinda took a bite of her sandwich and relished the tang of ketchup, dill pickle chips, well-cooked meat, and nearly - but not quite - burnt bacon. She opened her eyes and suppressed a giggle when she saw Grant take a huge bite of his burger; there was something comical about seeing such a handsome distinguished man, clad in a gray suit and a blue silk tie devouring a dripping cheeseburger. She reached into the big basket of onion rings between them and crunched into one. “You don’t look like the bacon cheeseburger type, Grant.”

He shrugged and swallowed. “Neither do you, young lady.” He winked and she laughed.
 

“Before coming to Ravencrest, this burger was the equivalent of a steak. I wasn’t making much money so I was living on junk food.” She made a face. “My roommate used to make these awful mac and cheese casseroles and pots of weenies and beans that would have made me gag if I hadn’t been so broke and hungry all the time. Oh, I’m glad that’s over with!”

“The roommate is the other person texting you, correct?” Grant asked.

Belinda nodded and swallowed. “Randi. She also tried to molest me when I slept - it took a long time for me to realize it. I can’t believe how naive I was!”

“Oh, dear. That’s terrible!” He paused. “She actually molested you?”

“The night before I made up my mind to leave, I woke up with her staring at me while I slept. And touching me.” She realized she was revealing too many details - but he was so easy to talk to. She sipped Dr. Pepper through a straw. “Something happened this morning,” she told him.

“What?”

“I went swimming very early and heard someone jump off the diving board. I heard the splash, too, but no one was there.” She picked up another onion ring.

“The indoor pool?”

“Yes. And there’s more.” She looked at the ring, then back at Grant. “Mr. Manning came and it happened again. He heard it, too. And he said it was his wife.”

“He explained about Isobel?” Grant’s burger was momentarily forgotten.

“He did.”

Grant nodded. “It was tragic. For a time, I thought Eric would never get over it. That he would so freely talk about it to you makes me glad.”

“Why?”

“It’s healthy. It’s good that he feels so comfortable with you.”

“Me, too.” She paused. “But there was something else we both heard. A woman’s scream - or that’s what I thought it was. Eric said it was probably a peacock that got inside the building.”

Grant chewed thoughtfully. “The peacocks do cause quite a ruckus sometimes.”
 

“So you think it was a peacock?”  Belinda squirted more ketchup on her plate and dipped a ring.
 

“Perhaps.”

She looked up. “Perhaps?”

“I’ve heard it, too. Riley and I both. It may have been a peacock.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“To me, peacocks sound more like squalling babies or cats in love.”

Belinda nodded agreement as she bit into more greasy goodness.
 

“I don’t want you to be frightened, Belinda, but I think that might have been a ghostly scream.”
 

She swallowed. “I was afraid of that. Is it Isobel Manning, do you think?”

His gaze was owlish. “She wouldn’t have had time to scream if it were an accident.”

“Are you saying-”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Do you think her death
wasn’t
an accident?”

Another owlish look. “I don’t know. The coroner ruled it an accident. And if it was a ghostly scream you heard, it might date much further back; the indoor pool was completed in 1926. It’s rumored there were deaths associated with building the pool and there have certainly been drownings over the years. In the twenties and thirties the Mannings were known for their wild parties and at least three drunken guests met their deaths in those decades alone.” He paused. “Are you familiar with Hearst Castle’s indoor pool?”

“I’ve never been there.”

“Same builders. It’s quite like our pool, fashioned after Roman baths. Hearst’s building is fancier, a decade newer with more gold and different designs, but that’s the main difference. The Mannings, bless their hearts, have always loved the night sky, the constellations. At the same time the pool was built, Violet LeBlanc, Henry’s second wife, had your bathroom designed to mimic it. That’s how much she loved it.”

“My room was the master bedroom?”

“No, it served as her dressing room and hideaway. She was an actress, you know, in the silent movies. Quite beautiful. She was known as The White Violet. Remind me to point out her portrait.”
 

“I will.” Belinda ate the last onion ring. “What happened to her?”

“She didn’t have the voice for talkies and her career was over by 1930. She didn’t take it well and eventually lost her mind.”

“How sad.”
 

“Indeed. Her husband hired nurses to look after her, and she spent her remaining years in a room on the third floor with all the comforts she needed.”

“Why the third floor?”

“I’m afraid she upset the household. She frightened her children with her screams. Her husband refused to send her to a sanitarium and didn’t approve of keeping her drugged all the time.” He finished his burger and waved at a waitress. “Two hot apple pies, a la mode. And two coffees.”
 

“I couldn’t eat another bite,” Belinda said.

“You’ll thank me later. Trust me.” He wiped his mouth. “We’ve gone way off track. We can talk about the White Violet later. We have other things to discuss.”

“Is Violet one of Ravencrest’s ghosts?” Belinda asked.

“I’ve heard of several sightings,” Grant said. “But don’t worry; her hospital room on the third floor wasn’t even on the same corridor as your office and classroom.”

“You just read my mind.”  She decided not to bring up the disturbance she’d experienced in her bathroom that first night.
 

Grant smiled as the waitress delivered their desserts. “Thank you.” He turned back to Belinda. “Just taste it.”

She did. “Amazing.”

“Now then, dearheart, let’s talk. Ask me anything.” He forked pie into his mouth and closed his eyes with pleasure. “Mmm.”

“Why did we have to leave the estate to talk?”

“That’s your first question?”

“It sure is.” She grinned.
 

“This remains between the two of us.”

“On my honor.”

“Mrs. Heller has eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Do you think she bugged your kitchen?”

“No, not electronically, but the woman has abilities I’m not even going to attempt to explain, not now. Suffice it to say she has means that are not commonly understood.”

“She’s psychic?”

“After a fashion, yes. And if she happens to tune in at an inopportune moment, it might have repercussions for you, Belinda. Just trust me on this.”

“All right.”

“Now ask me your real questions.”

Belinda wasn’t sure where to begin. There were the nuns, but now the little girl interested her most. “Last night, I had a dream. At least at first I thought it was a dream.. Alice Manning-” she began, then stopped, not knowing what to say next.

“Yes, the wife of Edward; she died before he and their son Parnell came to America. She is among us at Ravencrest. Her portrait hangs in your room.”

“I’ve seen her twice.”

Grant looked up. “Go on.”

“Once on my first night, but I assumed it was a dream. And again last night. This time, she was dressed in the red gown from the Christmas painting in the gallery. The family portrait.”

Grant sat forward. “And?”

“I woke up and she was sitting on my bed. I could hear her, feel her. I could smell her perfume. She asked me to help her daughter - her
real
daughter, she said. I know she meant the little girl in the east wing. I recognized her in the portrait last night, even her dress.”

“Prudence.”

“Yes. Prudence. But last night Eric told me Prudence grew up, so how could it be her ghost?”

“It’s a mystery,” Grant said slowly.
H
e stared at her. “Did Alice’s spirit say anything else?”

“She did. She heard someone trying my door - I did too - and said it was Carmilla Harlow and not to let her touch Prudence. Then she vanished. I sat up, wide awake and looked - the doorknob really was moving, so I raced to the door and yanked it open.”

“Brave girl,” was all Grant said.

“It was Mrs. Heller.”

Grant’s eyebrow shot up.
 

“She had a key and she was letting herself in. She said she has prophetic dreams and thought I might be about to jump out my window; she was there to save me.”

Grant’s laugh was harsh and humorless.
 

“I didn’t believe her, either,” Belinda said. “It was an excuse.”

“Did Eric tell you who Carmilla Harlow was when he showed you the Christmas portrait?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid I can’t recall what he said.”

“She was governess to Alice and Edward Manning’s children and was hanged as a witch on Christmas morning in 1788.”

Belinda nodded. “I remember now. He seemed to enjoy telling the story.”
 

“Indeed.” Grant sipped coffee. “He loves to tell tales about his ancestors. I don’t blame him. They’re an entertaining lot.”

“Grant, I need to tell you one more thing. It’s pretty weird.”

“Go on.”
 

“Alice said something else before Mrs. Heller interrupted.”

“Yes?”

“She mentioned you.”

Grant dropped his fork. “You must have misunderstood.”

“No, she was pretty specific. First she said to get help from a Dr. Lanval. I didn’t know who that was and I asked if she meant Dr. Akin. She said, ‘No,
your
Dr. Lanval - Dr. Phister,’ plain as day.”

“Well, that’s about the strangest thing I’ve ever heard. Are you sure you didn’t dream it?”

“I’m not sure of anything, except that Mrs. Heller was letting herself into my bedroom.” She paused. “Grant, I don’t think it was a dream.”

“Nor do I.” His eyes were kind but unreadable. “Eric took you on a tour of the gallery, and you already know the child ghost you met in the east wing was Prudence Manning.”

“Yes ... But it’s just crazy. If she didn’t die … Grant, I don’t understand.”

“There are some things worse than death.”