The Coffin Club Read Online Free Page B

pleasantly, I might add,‖ he said with a skinny-toothed smile.
    ―I‘m visiting my aunt Libby here in town,‖ I said, relieved to see the bony butler. ―I wanted to tell Alexander, but there wasn‘t a way to let him know. I seriously think it‘s time you and Alexander got cell phones.‖
    ―Please come in. It will be dark soon.‖
    The smell of sweet potatoes filled the high ceilings of the rustic kitchen. Jameson was preparing dinner, or, in Alexander‘s case, breakfast.

    ―Will you be staying?‖ he asked in his thick Romanian accent.
    ―I‘d love to, if it‘s not a problem.‖
    ―There is always room for you at our dinner table.‖
    My heart melted at Jameson‘s kindness. I was dying to press the bony man for information on what they‘d been doing in Hipsterville and why they had rented the manor house, but that would have to wait because there was something of more importance resting somewhere in the estate.
    ―Can I see Alexander?‖ I asked anxiously.
    Jameson, wearing oversized brown oven mitts, opened the door of the old-fashioned oven and pulled out a tray of aluminum-foil-covered sweet potatoes. Behind him, the dirt-stained window stared at me like a hotel oil painting—poking through intermittent clouds was the setting sun.
    ―You know Alexander prefers to sleep during the day,‖ he reminded me.
    ―Of course…I just thought…‖
    ―Well, it is quite a surprise you have arrived,‖ he said, politely entertaining me. ―I‘m sure Alexander will be very pleased you are here.‖
    ―I hope so! How long do you and Alexander plan to stay here?‖ I asked.
    Jameson paused, then appeared distracted. ―Did I set the table?‖ he wondered.
    ―I am sorry to drop in on you like this,‖ I apologized. ―Can I help you set it?‖
    ―That won‘t be necessary, Miss Raven. Why don‘t you sit and relax in the study.
    Alexander will come down soon.‖
    ―May I take a quick peek around?‖
    ―Of course, but stay on the first floor. I didn‘t have time to clean the other rooms today,‖
    he said.
    If the first floor‘s appearance was Jameson‘s idea of cleaning, I could only imagine what the second floor was like. Dust balls clung to every corner, and cobwebs hung from the antique crystal chandeliers. The estate was far too grand for one creepy man to vacuum. The manor house was at least ten degrees colder than the Mansion and far emptier. The floorboards were uneven and watermarked. I wandered in the hallway; the walls were empty of portraits and the wallpaper was faded and patched with stains. All rooms and walls were bare, including what must have been a parlor and library. The only exception was the dining room, where a long rectangular stone table sat in the middle of the room, antique black velvet chairs at each end.
    Jameson had warned me to remain on the first floor as if he were Glinda the good witch telling Dorothy to stay on the yellow brick road. From the foot of the grand staircase, I could only see a royal blue curtained window at the end of the first flight. I wondered what lay past the two flights out of view above me. Figuring I only had a moment before Jameson began setting the table, I crept up the once regal staircase. Like Dorothy, I betrayed the path.
    Chills danced down my spine as I snuck through the narrow and lonely hallway. I opened door after door, revealing empty bedrooms and closets, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous and vacant space. Where the Mansion‘s rooms were filled with furniture, books, and antique mementos, the manor house‘s rooms were stripped of any memories. The only room that showed any sign of life was at the far end of the corridor. Its contents: a single bed and a cedar dresser. I presumed it was Jameson‘s living quarters.
    When I softly shut the Creepy Man‘s bedroom door, I noticed something dangling in the hallway ceiling above me. A short, wiry piece of white rope hung from a square door overhead.

    It was out of arm‘s reach, but with a