The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) (34 page)

 Finished, Grant picked the bag up and pushed it into her arms then stepped back. He nodded thanks to Cordelia then glanced at Belinda and Eric.

“You very nearly killed your own daughter, Mrs. Moorland,” Eric said, his hand resting lightly against the small of Belinda’s back. “I do think you owe her an apology.”

“Belinda, my baby, my sweet little baby, what has that man done to you?” Rhonda responded.

“Nothing, Mother.” Belinda could barely look at her and knew there would be no apology. “He’s done nothing to me. Why are you here?”

“You called me, you little twit! Don’t you remember?”
 

“See here, madam, I won’t have you calling Belinda names in this house,” Eric said.

“Oh, listen to you Mr. Fancy-Pants Millionaire sex-pervert. She’s
my
daughter and I’ll call her anything I want.” She glared at Belinda. “You called me not three hours ago and asked me to rescue you. Are your bags packed?”

“I did
not
call you, Momma.”

Momma glanced from Belinda to Eric, eyes narrowing. “You’re making her lie,” she snarled. “Get your hands off her.”

“He’s not making me do anything, Momma. I didn’t phone you.”

“Don’t you lie to me, you little tart. I did everything in my power to raise you right, to make you ready for the convent, to make you a bride of Christ, and what did you do? You threw it all back at me, you ungrateful little tramp. Now here you are lying to me, as usual.” Beads of sweat popped from the pores on Momma’s red face. “You have no respect for your elders. No respect at all!”

“Mrs. Moorland,” Eric began.

She talked over him. “My Holy Host, Belinda, you can’t handle your life because you didn’t mind me. You didn’t listen to me. You were nothing but a spoiled, willful child. And now see what
you’ve
done? What in the Lord’s name did you say to Randi?  She came to rescue you last night and now she’s just … gone. Did you hurt her feelings?”

“She was never here, Mother. “I didn’t even know she intended to come until late last night when I saw the text.”

“Oh, God on His Golden Throne! So you
do
read my texts!” Momma latched on like a bulldog. “You read them but don’t answer them. Why are you so rude? Why is God punishing me with your rudeness? What did I do wrong? My arm feels funny!”

“If I answered all the calls and texts you and Randi leave, I wouldn’t have any time to do my work.” Humiliation was turning into anger and Belinda welcomed it. “As I tried to explain when I went away to college - and stayed away - I can’t live with you. You tried to control every aspect of my life, tried to tell me how to dress, what books I could read and which movies I could watch. You tried to tell me how to think.” Belinda took a step toward her mother, her voice low. “You tried to drive my friends away so you could stick me with Randi.”

“You did just fine with Randi. She kept an eye on you.”

“She spied on me, Momma. She told you everything I did.”

“You’re on the path of Judas, Belinda. I never-”

“Oh, please don’t try to deny it. I heard her on the phone with you so many times. You never wanted me to grow up.”

“I wanted to shield you from things like …” She pointed at Eric. “Things like this. Men like this. He’s soiled your tulip and he’ll
never
marry you.”

Belinda took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, willing her fury to remain ice in her veins. “Mr. Manning has never molested me, Momma. But I’ll tell you who has.”

“Who? Tell me who, and I’ll kill him.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you, Momma, I’ll tell you happily. It was Randi. She would come into my room and fondle me while I was asleep. The last night I was there-”

Momma reach out and slapped Belinda’s face. “Liar!” Spittle flecked her mouth. “You dirty, filthy little tramp of a liar!”

Eric and Grant both moved to her side. Belinda gave them each a glance, silencing them before they spoke. Otherwise, she didn’t move, didn’t react, just stared at her mother. She remembered being very young, maybe five or six, when her mother had asked her if she’d stolen her box of Godiva chocolates. Belinda said no with utter honesty, but Momma had shaken her, spanked her and made her sit on her bed with a bar of soap in her mouth and watch while she dumped every drawer, tipped over her toy box, and emptied her closet looking for the missing candy. Finding nothing, she went through the trash cans looking for evidence. Nothing more was said, but Belinda was confined to her room the rest of the day and that evening, she peeked out and saw Momma sitting on the sofa watching
I Love Lucy
reruns, her feet in big fluffy pink slippers on the coffee table. She had the Godiva box in her lap and was eating one after another, chocolate smeared on her lips and fingers. She’d never even apologized to Belinda for not believing her. More accusations would follow, by the hundreds, and none were true. The first seed of hatred for her mother had taken root that day.
 

In college, she’d gone to a therapist, feeling there was something wrong with her for hating her own mother, for not caring about her. But the therapist had assured her it was a healthy reaction.

“Are you listening to me, Belinda?” Rhonda demanded. “Are you listening?”

“No, I’m not listening.”

“How dare you tell such horrible lies about Randi! She’s your best friend!”

“She isn’t a friend, Momma. She’s a molester and your spy, nothing more.”

“You listen to me, you … you … bitch of Lucifer! You’re a good-for-nothing little liar. You always have been, and you always will be, and-”

Eric somehow made himself even taller and more imposing as he stepped forward. “You are no longer welcome in our home, Mrs. Moorland. We will see you out now. And if you come back or try to bother Belinda in any way, the police will be notified.”
 

Belinda was sure Momma would try to punch him, but she just stared, jaw working, piggy nose sniffing. “But she’s my baby girl. You can’t separate me from my baby.”

“If Belinda wishes to communicate with you in the future, that’s her decision. But you are banned from this house.” He was in her face now. “You brought a loaded gun into my home and very nearly killed your own daughter. Your treatment of Belinda is unconscionable. That she has managed to thrive and become the accomplished woman she is today despite your stupendous failure as a mother makes me admire and respect her even more. Madam, you are a selfish, short-sighted demon-”

“YOU’RE THE DEMON!” She lunged at Eric, but Grant pulled her back before she made contact.
 

“Surely, Mrs. Moorland, you don’t wish us to call the police?” Eric spoke in his silkiest voice.
 

“He’s possessed you, Belinda!” screamed Momma. Spittle flew. “He’s the devil incarnate!” She glared at Eric and intoned, “’No man shall touch the Gentiles of a woman who is not his wife.’ It’s in the Bible! And that means you, mister man!”

“It’s Manning.”

Cordelia Heller stepped forward and studied Rhonda Moorland with her cobra eyes. “I’ve met the devil,” she said in a clipped tone. “And he’s nicer than you.”
 

Belinda’s jaw dropped and she snapped it shut.
 

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Heller said. “I have work to attend to.” With that, she disappeared into the rear of the house, heels clocking briskly over the marble.

“I will see you to your car, Mrs. Moorland,” Grant said. “Then I will watch you drive to the gates and release them when you arrive there, so don’t dawdle.” Without a pause, he took her arm and propelled her to the front entrance.
 

Belinda stood watching. Her mother had embarrassed her many times in her twenty-three years, but this was the worst. All that dirty laundry aired in front of Eric, Grant, and Mrs. Heller. She wanted to die. And she was the one who opened her mouth and told the world Randi had molested her, not Momma.
Why did I do that? I can never look Eric in the eye again!

Hot tears silently washed down her cheeks. She lifted a hand to wipe them away, but Eric caught it and turned her toward him. She couldn’t meet his eye as he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears away. Then he put his fingers under her jaw. “Look at me, won’t you?”

Reluctantly, she let him raise her chin.

“You have overcome such adversity, Belinda. Such trauma at the hands of that woman.”

Fresh tears sprung into her eyes. “I haven’t been a good daughter.”

“You cannot be a daughter of any sort to a person like that. She’s interested only in her own welfare and is incapable of love. No one could satisfy her. I’m sorry you had to live with her but your experiences have helped make you the wonderful, caring woman you are today. No wonder you’re so good with the kids.” He dabbed away more stray tears and held her prisoner in his storm-colored eyes. “You are part of this family now and I will never let anyone treat you like that again. Never.”

Belinda lost it and cried in earnest, in relief, in joy, in horror. Eric wrapped her in his arms and put his lips to her forehead in a chaste but lingering kiss that she never wanted to end.

***

Walter Hardwicke cursed Cordelia Heller. If she hadn’t been such a sex addict -
oh, no, Walter, we have plenty of time, at least an hour, maybe two
- the bitch in the crappy Le Car would have been taken care of properly before she ever made landfall at the house. But no. Cordelia had to have her carpet munched, over and over, a dozen or more times. The woman was greedy for orgasms and didn’t care that his tongue was numb and his jaw ached. “Nope,” he said. “Gotta have those orgasms.”
 

She’d come racing back to his garage only fifteen minutes before. His quarry would be leaving Ravencrest soon, and he had to grab her while he could, had to stop her before this cow started calling the police about the fatty he did in the other night. Cordelia wouldn’t budge on that.

So now, Walter sat on Ravencrest Drive, the narrow curving road that led three miles from the town up to the mansion’s gates. He had parked the Chevy Malibu - one of Eric’s classics - smack in the middle of the asphalt, slightly skewed so that nothing but a motorcycle could get past. He chewed on a toothpick and waited for his prey. “Hmmph,” he said, pulling the toothpick out to fish around in his mouth with his fingers. He withdrew a black pubic hair and wiped it on his pants. The carpet didn’t match the drapes. He’d tried to convince her to get a wax, but Cordelia wouldn’t hear of it. She was old school about the pubes. She practically had an afro down there.
 

A little piece-of-shit blue car appeared over the rise and he felt a spark of excitement in his mind and in his pants. He leaned into the open trunk, hefted his crowbar, and placed it on the road in the shadows of the Malibu’s rear tire then turned and began waving his right arm above his head and smiling as the Le Car approached.
 

He could see the woman’s scowl as she slowed. The bitch was huge; he was surprised she was able to get in and out of her itty bitty car.
Fuck. It’s Moby Dick. I’m going to end up at the chiropractor’s again.

He smiled and waved as she slowed, weaving back and forth looking for a way around the Malibu.
Not happening, bitch.
 

She pulled as close to the edge of the shoulderless road as she could and rolled down her window. “Get your car out of the way!” She sounded like a crow with a frog in its throat.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He put on his sexiest smile and approached her window. “I can’t move it - my front tire blew.” He held his left arm at his side and wished he’d remembered to bring a sling like Ted Bundy.
Oh well, this will work.

“Well, drive on the rims. Get this car out of the road!”
Caw, caw!

“I’m sorry to ask, but might you help me? I need to get at my jack and I can’t use my left arm. I had surgery.”

“Surgery? On your arm?”

“Torn rotator cuff,” he said.
 

“Call Triple A!” Her forehead shined with sweat, and the front of her fluffy poodle-haircut was damp.

“My cell ran down.”

“I’ll call them for you,” she growled.
 

“Please, I only need five minutes of your time then we’ll both be out of here, I promise!”

The old battleaxe looked dubiously at his arm. “I can’t jack your car up, Mr. Broken Arm.”

“I can do that, ma’am. I just need you to lift the liner so I can pull the jack out.” He gave her his best hurt puppy dog look. “I can change the tire myself.”

“With one arm?”

“Yes.” Another smile.

“You better not be wrong about five minutes,” she snarled as she opened the car door and dragged one pier-post leg out, then the other.
 

Walter’s back started aching before she was all the way out of the car.

Accusations

Grant almost knocked on Cordelia Heller’s office door, then lowered his hand to the knob and turned it instead. Dealing with Heller required being on the offense rather than the defense.

Cordelia, dressed in a severe charcoal suit with matching heels, looked up from her desk. Her platinum hair was pulled back in a knot and her lipstick was the color of venous blood. “Why, Phister, you failed to knock. Where is your proper British decorum today?”
 

“I left it at the door, Cordelia.” He approached the desk and loomed over her. She snapped her computer closed and stood up, never taking her eyes off his. She was always ready for a pissing contest.

“What is it?”

“It was unusually kind of you to stick up for Belinda the way you did.”

“I have new respect for the child, Phister. Not everyone could have survived Rhonda Moorland.”

“Quite true.” Grant eyed her. “You were behind this, Cordelia.”

“Behind what?” She fluttered her sooty lashes.

“You know very well what.”

“You overestimate my psychic abilities, Phister.”

“You’re attempting to play me, Heller.” He smiled. “Tell me, have you been in Belinda’s room again? Perhaps checked the messages on her phone?”

“Why, Phister, are you accusing me of snooping?”