The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) (33 page)

The light changed and the Subaru in front of her just sat there. Rhonda gave her horn a beep, and the Outback began moving.
Thank God for alert drivers like me!
She regained her speed as a man on the radio sang about the devil going down on Georgia.
Obscene!
Fed up with these soul-corrupting musical abominations, she scanned channels until she came across a station that had no music at all. A man was talking, his voice easygoing and pleasant.
 

“Here in Candle Bay on the cool California coast, it’s a balmy seventy-five degrees. Up in Crimson Cove, it’s seventy-eight - but the weather genie says the humidity makes it feel like eighty-four, and that’s all right with me. For those of you listening in Bakerton, you’re baking at ninety-three, but if you shoot northwest to the coastal hills of the Devilswood area, it’s a sweet eighty-two. Finally, Linda Lu in Milkwort Falls asked me to check in… Hello, Linda Lu, it’s a warm ninety-two across the state in Gold Country. Better turn that air conditioner up to full tilt boogie.

“And now, we’re going to talk to one of our favorite guests, author David Masters, about some of the strange things happening throughout California, specifically about research he’s been doing on ghosts and hauntings in a historic mountain town down south, Cliffside. He recently spent some time there at the Cliffhouse Lodge and has come back with some hair-raising tales for us-”

“Hogwash! Ungodly hogwash!” Rhonda Moorland was no fool. The bible said that ghosts didn’t exist and she knew better than to question the Word. She turned the radio off, opting for silence over sacrilege. She plunged her hand into the cheese puffs and crunched another mouthful of the salty goodness, chasing it with a healthy squirt of EZ Cheese from the can. She only swerved a little. Rhonda needed her strength if she was going to do battle with the devil to save her daughter. She glanced past the EZ Cheese to her big black purse. Her gun was loaded and ready, just like her.

***

“I wish you’d given me more notice, Cordelia.” Walter Hardwicke bobbed up from between Heller’s legs. “We shouldn’t be doing this. From what you say, this woman could arrive at any moment and I can’t divert her if I’m eating your pussy.”

Cordelia, in the backseat of Eric Manning’s classic Barracuda, looked at Walter. His mustache gleamed and his lips were swollen, his nose shiny and red. The man knew what he was doing under her hood, but when he spoke, he was an idiot. “Walter, we have plenty of time. She couldn’t possibly show up for at least an hour, probably two. Finish me off a few more times, then you can get ready.”

“Yes, ma’am, if you say so, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She reached down and shoved his face back into her business.

***

Phoebe Waxwing had never answered the call box before, but she hadn’t seen Mrs. Heller, Grant, or Mr. Manning all morning, and someone was at the gate. It wasn’t her duty to allow visitors, but the woman outside kept beeping her horn, pushing the call button, and shaking her fist at the camera. Phoebe turned to Justine. “What should I do?”

Justine leaned casually against the door of the stainless steel freezer, a pint of Rocky Road in one hand, a spoon in the other. She shrugged. “See who it is.”

“Okay.” Phoebe pressed the large black button. “Um, can I help you?”

The woman in the camera stuck her face inches from the speaker and practically yelled. “I should certainly hope so! I am Rhonda Moorland and I’m here to rescue my daughter from the clutches of this wicked, wicked house!”

Justine moved closer. “No shit,” she whispered, suddenly interested. “It’s Belinda’s mom?”

“And she sounds really mad.” Phoebe was nervous. “What should I tell her?”

Justine’s smile widened. “Let her in.”

“But Mrs. Heller-”

“-isn’t around,” said Justine. “Fuck her.”

Phoebe watched the camera a moment. She didn’t think the woman was going to leave any time soon, regardless. She pressed the button that opened the gates, then the one that was used to talk to the visitors. “Come in,” she said, not sure at all that she’d done the right thing.

“
This
is going to be interesting.” Beside her, Justine sucked more ice cream off her spoon.
 

***

Rhonda couldn’t believe how long the drive up to the fancy house took. The road wound around gardens and oodles of naked statues - it was truly a devil’s playground. Money had to be dripping from this evil Manning’s rear end. She’d never seen so many obscenities in one place. To think her little girl was being tortured here made her glad she’d brought her gun. Passing the long reflecting pool, she at last pulled Scooter right to the front steps and killed the engine before dropping her car keys into her brassiere for safekeeping. She raised a fist to pound on the double doors but before she could knock, one swung open. She stared into the face of a surprised-looking young woman with light red hair in a black and white maid’s uniform. Behind her stood another maid - a blonde with whore-red lips and too much cleavage bursting out of an identical outfit.

“I’m here to see Belinda.” Rhonda bustled past the redhead into the vast entry hall, her crepe-soled shoes squeaking on the hard marble floors. She looked around. “Where’s my daughter?” Her voice shrilled through the hall.

***

Grant returned to the kitchen with a handful of fresh sage and thyme and nearly dropped the herbs as a woman’s voice bellowed,
“Where’s my daughter?”

“Now what?” he muttered, setting the herbs on the counter and hurrying down the corridor toward the main hall. He knew what, though. It could only be Belinda’s inestimably noxious mother. “Damn me,” he muttered, wishing he’d chosen any other time to go pick herbs.
What’s she doing here, anyway?
 

He strode into the hall and saw Justine and little Phoebe Waxwing nervously standing before something that looked like Shelley Winters at her most bloated, clad in a pink polyester pants and a shirt coated with gigantic red hibiscus. It was a horrendous sight.

Phoebe turned and practically ran to him, then whispered in his ear. “Nobody was here and she said she’s Belinda’s mother and Justine said I should answer it. Please don’t tell Mrs. Heller.”
 

“Don’t worry, Phoebe.” He looked up and saw Justine smiling at him. The girl was a troublemaker, a favorite of Cordelia’s, of course.
 

“Where’s my daughter?” Mrs. Moorland cried, her shoes squitching as she stomped toward him. “You’re the millionaire who’s doing sex-pervert things to my daughter!” She pointed at Grant, little piggy eyes shining, brows drawn down, pursed mouth flecked with spittle.
 

“I’m afraid I’m neither a millionaire nor a pervert, madam,” Grant said calmly.

“Perhaps this woman is looking for me?”

All heads turned to see Eric Manning on the second floor landing, his kids behind him. “Phoebe,” he said. “Would you be kind enough to accompany the children to the TV room and perhaps watch a movie with them?”

“Yes, Mr. Manning.” Phoebe looked grateful as she trotted up the stairs.
 

“Dad!” whined Cynthia, “I wanna watch!”

“No.”

Thad was behind his father, peeking out. “That’s Ursula!” he said, pointing at Rhonda. “She stole Ariel’s voice! Make her go away!”

“Who the heck is Ursula?” Rhonda Moorland demanded.
 

“She is an evil sea-witch from a Disney movie, madam.” Grant spoke with implacable serenity.

“Make Ursula go away!” Thad cried as Phoebe tried to pry him from his father’s leg.

“I’m Belinda’s mother, little boy, and don’t you forget it!” Her voice echoed through the hall as she turned her wrathful gaze on Thad.
 

“Daddy! Belinda’s mother is Ursula!”

“Don’t worry, everything’s okay, son. Just go with Phoebe. You can watch anything you want.”  Eric lifted him up and handed him to the little redhead.
 

She took him in her arms. “Come Cynthia,” she said. The three of them disappeared, both children craning their necks to watch the show.

Eric, unflappable as always, descended the stairs and looked at the remaining maid. “You’re dismissed, Justine. Please go back to your duties in the kitchen. I’ll call you if you’re needed.”

Looking sullen, Justine nodded and disappeared into the dark corridor where Grant had no doubt she would remain to eavesdrop.

“Now then, Mrs. Moorland,” Eric said as he approached her. “I don’t think Belinda is expecting you - she said nothing about a visit - but I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He ignored Grant’s subtle shake of the head and put his hand out.

“Belinda called me at lunchtime and told me everything you’ve done to her.” She looked at his hand. “I would sooner shake hands with Satan, you sex-pervert. I know where your dirty fingers have been!”
 

Eric didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Mrs. Moorland, Belinda couldn’t have called you at noon because-”

“You were raping her with your dirty dagger!”

Grant suppressed a smile.

“No. She was with me-”

“Being raped!”

“And my children-”

“You raped them, too!”

“On a picnic. There was no raping, Mrs. Moorland, I assure you.”

“I want to hear that from children’s mouths - and Belinda’s.”

“Madam, I will not expose my children to your vulgarities.”

“HOW DARE YOU! Where’s my daughter? What have you done with her?”

“Grant? Have you any idea where Miss Moorland might be?”

He nodded. “I believe she’s in her office on the third floor. Shall I fetch her?”

“Send Justine, won’t you?”

Grant nodded and headed for the kitchen corridor. He found Justine standing in the shadows and sent her upstairs. He was glad he hadn’t had to go all the way to the kitchen - as it was, Mrs. Moorland had already advanced to within a foot of Eric.
 

“You’re going to be sorry you touched my daughter’s messy tulip!” She rummaged in her huge black purse. A donut fell out and rolled across the floor. “A mother’s wrath knows no scorn!”

“Indeed.” Eric’s tone was mild. “Belinda will be here momentarily. Perhaps she can clear up any confusion.”

“Oh, don’t you give me that, you dirty-daggered madman!”

“Madam, I don’t even know what that means.”
 

“You put your dirty dagger in my daughter’s mossy garden!”

“Her what?”

“Her messy tulip! Don’t you understand plain English?”

“Please lower your voice, madam. We will sort everything out, I assure you.”

Grant heard the unmistakable sound of Cordelia’s stilettos approaching from the rear of the house. He glanced at her, a warning in his eyes. She didn’t acknowledge it but looked with astonishment at the woman. “How did
she
get in here?”

How do you know who she is?
Grant instantly knew that somehow, in some way, Cordelia was involved in this.

“Mrs. Heller is my administrative assistant.” Eric turned to Cordelia. “May I introduce you to Belinda’s mother, Rhonda Moorland?”

Rhonda ignored Heller, instead poking a finger into Eric’s chest. “You filthy devil. You filthy, sinful devil, how dare you touch my daughter!”

***

“You put your dirty fingers in my daughter’s messy tulip. You’ll pay for this!”

Belinda arrived at the second floor landing and looked in horror at the scene below. Her mother was trying to intimidate Eric as Grant and Mrs. Heller looked on. Momma’s finger was punching into Eric’s chest as she accused him of abuse. Her other hand was fishing around in the giant black purse.”
Oh, Christ!  
“Grant!” Belinda cried out. “Grab her purse, now! She’s got a gun!”
 

Eric looked at Belinda, but Grant instantly reached out and tore the purse from Rhonda’s shoulder. Her hand popped out, empty. Grant retreated and dumped the contents of the bag on a side table. A big black pistol slid out onto the white marble tabletop.. Rhonda moved faster than Belinda would have thought possible, lunging and grabbing the weapon and waving it around. “It’s mine! I have a constitutional right to bear arms! It’s mine!” She clutched it and whirled.
 

The gun went off.

Belinda felt the wind of the bullet as it shot by, barely missing her cheek. She screamed and ducked as the bullet hit the wall behind her. Chips of white plaster showered her.
 

Grant tackled Momma and wrestled the gun from her grip.

“Belinda!” Eric cried, rushing up the stairs. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, trying not to tremble. “I … Yes. I’m all right. The bullet missed me by an inch,” she said in disbelief. “Maybe less.” She picked pieces of plaster out of her hair.
 

Eric put his arm around her waist. “You’ve had a shock.”  He guided her down the stairs and stayed beside her as they approached her mother, who didn’t notice them.

Momma’s eyes were on Grant as he opened the cylinder and let the bullets fall into his hand. “Those are mine!” she screeched. She lunged at Grant as he dropped the ammunition into his coat pocket, but Cordelia moved at the speed of light and put herself between Rhonda and Grant.

“Thank you, Mrs. Heller,” Grant said as he replaced the empty gun in Rhonda’s purse.
 

“How dare you!” yelled Momma.
 

“Mrs. Moorland,” Cordelia said in a tone that silenced the woman. “Unless you wish to be arrested, I suggest you buy yourself new bullets when you return home.” She smiled like a snake. “And then perhaps consider using one on yourself.”

Eric opened his mouth. Belinda shook her head at him.

Momma remained speechless for a few seconds before exploding. “How dare you speak to me like that, you … you … Lilith!” She charged Mrs. Heller, but the slender woman sidestepped her and Momma splattered onto the floor, face first. She was up in an instant, hair disheveled, eyes maniacal. She spun and stomped toward Grant. “Get your dirty man hands off my things” she yelled as Grant replaced mounds of coupons, packs of gum, candy bars, half a dozen tubes of lipstick and a white plastic crucifix in her handbag.