Havoc at Wildwood Manor by London Lovett

Author:London Lovett [Lovett, London]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wild Fox Press

Chapter 19

Emily had invited me to dinner. She'd heard the news about Jackson and me and wanted to console me with her mile high chocolate cake. My sisters seemed to both understand that copious amounts of sugar were the best way to lighten my mood, but I just wasn't in the mood for sisterly company or sugar.

I poured myself a glass of milk, the only thing that sounded soothing to my knotted up stomach. I sat down at my kitchen table and stared out the window. Sunlight was disappearing, but there was still a wavy haze of warmth vibrating off the tall grass in the front yard. The wide expanse of green that was about half grass and half weeds was just another reminder of how far I had to go to get the Cider Ridge Inn ready for guests. And after today, I wasn't too sure I'd made the right business choice. Mrs. Rush was pacing frantically, rightfully worried that Camille Luxley's murder would destroy the Wildwood business. It would be a highly publicized case with news crews from all over descending on the place to find out just what had happened to the famous actress. Being a journalist, I knew too well that every manner of unseemly rumor would spark outlandish tales. While it would still mean free worldwide publicity for Wildwood Manor, it wouldn't necessarily be a good thing. It would encourage a lot of curious tourists and people more interested in the macabre than in a relaxing stay at a scenic home in a quiet town. With the Cider Ridge Inn having a prominent position on many of America's most haunted places lists, I was already facing that prospect. I wanted an inn where people could spend a romantic weekend or quiet, cozy getaway. The last thing I wanted was to be overrun with paranormal researchers traipsing around with their electronic equipment and noise detectors.

"That is not a look I should see on that face." Edward's voice came from somewhere in the kitchen. Sometimes, unless I was looking directly at his image, it was hard to know where his disembodied deep voice was coming from. He appeared directly across from me. "You have no reason to frown. You're alive. You can go out on the stoop and feel the sun on your face. You can smell the sweet pasture grass. You can taste the cold milk." He made a face. "I was never fond of cow's milk myself, but you get the point."

I leaned back on the chair with a derisive tilt of my head. "You're telling me that when you were alive, you were gloriously happy every day because you could feel sunlight and smell grass? Even when your own family shipped you off and you landed here with a cousin you clearly had no love for, you were still jubilant and lighthearted, ready to face the day with a big smile?"

"When you put it in those stark terms, perhaps not." Now I'd turned his mood sour.

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