The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) by Tamara Thorne, Alistair Cross Read Free Book Online Page A

don’t know. Not any time soon,” Belinda said, feeling nervous. “And now? Is there still a mortuary down there?”
    “Oh, no, Mr. Manning’s Uncle Albert had no interest in having dead bodies on the premises, even if the mortuary was, handily, in the basement,” Riley said. “You know, Grant, the equipment is all still down there. You could rent the place out to horror movie crews.”
    Grant rolled his eyes. “Don’t even suggest such a thing. The boss just might do it.” He winked at Belinda. “Mr. Manning’s uncle returned to a modernized form of monument and memorial making. The Mannings are born businessmen, and he did just fine. Our Mr. Manning doesn’t even have the stone works here on the property; he sends that business - a very small part of Manning Memoriam now - to an elderly stone carver, a master of his craft.”
    “That’s fascinating,” Belinda said.  
    Grant nodded. “That’s nothing. The business is all about technology now. He’ll even send your Aunt Gertie’s ashes into space and have a star named for her. Or put together a book about her. Or create a computer-generated movie - why, he’s stolen some of Spielberg’s best artists. Disney’s, too. And you know, he still employs artists and photographers for post-mortem portraits? A few people still like that sort of thing.”
    “You mentioned Disney artists?” Belinda asked, envisioning something that belonged in the Haunted Mansion.
    Grant nodded.
    “Animatronic Aunt Gertie,” Riley said. “Picture her, forever sitting in a rocking chair in your parlor, rocking away and telling you what a good girl you are.”
    “Better than stuffed like Norman Bates’s mom,” Phoebe said, closing her newspaper.
    Belinda narrowed her eyes. “Riley, are you pulling my leg?”
    “He is not,” Grant assured her. “Oh, dear … what’s that tap-tap-tapping I hear coming toward our chamber door?”
    “Shit,” said Phoebe.
    “Exactly,” Riley agreed. “Excuse me, won’t you, love? I have to reattach a broken penis to the statue of Bacchus by the pool.” He turned to leave, listened, then said, “Oh hell, too late.”
    The clacking of heels grew closer. Phoebe came out from behind the table and started straightening her uniform. While it wasn’t quite short or low-cut enough to be a French maid Halloween costume, it was similar, with a ruffled white apron and high heels that made the girl’s black lace choker take on a disturbingly sexual appearance. Her lower lip trembled a little, intensifying the look.
    The unpleasant Mrs. Heller entered the huge kitchen. Even her heels sounded angry, determined, and concise. Again she wore an all-black skirted suit, but today she had a white blouse beneath the jacket and the shape of her breasts seemed more severe. Probably one of those old-fashioned torpedo bras.
    As Mrs. Heller entered, voices stopped, spines straightened, and tension mounted. Everyone except Grant seemed affected by her.
    Phoebe began clearing the table.
    Riley seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the shine of the silverware and kept his back to the woman.
    Belinda swallowed hard, involuntarily reliving the horrible job interview before Mr. Manning had swept in and saved her.
    Mrs. Heller looked at Belinda. Her cold dark eyes appraised her with apparent distaste.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Heller,” said Belinda.
    Heller made a sound, something between a harrumph and an ahem . Spying the fruit bowl on the table, she reached for it, her black lacquered nails hovering over the plump fruit, in search of the perfect cherry. She found it, plucked it up, and bit into it.
    The sight made Belinda cringe.
    Heller pulled a face. “You should check these more carefully. This one isn’t ripe yet.” Her black eyes found Belinda for an excruciating moment.
    The room was silent.
    “Miss Waxwing,” said Heller, turning her gaze on Phoebe, “the state of the kitchen this morning is not acceptable. Surely you realize this?”
    Phoebe