yame Read Online Free Page A

'round here," she went on. Her eyes found his, and her smile sharpened. "You believe in such things? Ghosts'n such?" Westmore might've blushed. "Let me just say that I don't disbelieve anything that hasn't been confuted by my own eyes."
    She laughed. "Well that's a fancy way'a puttin' it!"
    It took conscious force not to stare outright at her bosom, whose moistness had traceably darkened the fabric of her smock. The size of her papillae were surely the size of his pinkie-tips. "But it's one house in particular my editor wants me to write about —the problem is, there's virtually no records or documentation of its existence. It was some eccentric guy who owned it: no birth records, no tax records, no financial trail, no house title—it's all based on hearsay. Evidently this guy had some kind of holding fund that always paid the property tax, like he didn't want anyone to be able to find him. His name was Crafter— "
    Easter interrupted with a deliberate nod. "Aw, yeah. Ole Crafter, I 'member him-"
    Westmore gagged, lurching forward, and actually hacked out a mouthful of ice-coffee. He began to cough. Half-alarmed, half-amused, Easter leaned over. "Why, Westmore! What ever is wrong?"
    "Ice-coffee down the wrong pipe," he gagged, recovering. " You took me by surprise —"
    "Huh?"
    Dizzy in exuberance, Westmore re-harnessed his composure. He was shaking. Too good to be true, too good — "Easter. This means a great deal to me. I've been trying to trace Crafter for six months, and there's nothing on him. All I have are little bits of conjecture from antiquarian book collectors and antique dealers. But you're telling me that"—he gulped—"you know something about Crafter?"
    "Why, shore. Ain't no big deal." She rolled an ice cube around on her tongue. "He was a old coot'n weirdo, pretty much. Had a funny first name, some-thin' like...Eff-ree-ham..."
    Westmore trembled. "Ephriam, yes. When did he disappear?"
    Her head cocked. "He didn't disser-peer. He up'n die, that's all, guess 'bout fifteen years ago. Only place he disser-peer to is six feet under."
    "He died? How did he die? Mysteriously? Was it murder?"
    Now her bemusement was plain. "Naw. Nothin' but a blammed heart attack. Must'a been inta his seventies."
    Damn. Well, I can work with that. Westmore's blood raced. Without thinking he reached across the table and touched Easter's hand. "Easter. Please." He took a deep breath. "Do you know where Crafter's house is?"
    "Shore," she said in utter nonchalance. "It just off Governor Bridge Road. Even got the mailbox still standin' plain as day, but ya know? Crafter ain't never got mail delivered there. Got it someplace else. Since you so hot fer his house, it ain't no trouble fer me ta show it to ya if ya like. Ain't but five're six miles away from where we'se sittin'."
    Westmore could've hemorrhaged. In a matter of minutes, he'd hit pay-dirt, all because of meeting this unlikely backwoods woman at a Best Buy! "You may have just saved my career..."
    "Oh, I'm so glad I'se can be of help, 'specially since you've helped me so," she said and indicated the memo-corder.
    "Did you actually know Ephriam Crafter?"
    "Well, in a sense. We'd all see him around once in a while. What we heard was he mostly traveled, like, overseas. He were rich. I only knowed him enough ta say hello, but he hardly ever say hello back. Not a very nice man, and Lord knows what he were really up to in that house'a his. What'cha need ta understand is, Crafter... He were what they call...a nekker-manser." Her big eyes batted. "You know what that is, Westmore?"
    "Necromancy, sure. He was a sorcerer."
    "Right! But, if truth be tolt he was just more of a dabbler...I think the word is...novice."
    I don't care. I'm being paid to write a book about him, and you're giving me more information in five minutes than I've gotten in six months!
    A pause hung over the table, then Easter looked at his hand, which was still on hers, and smiled.
    Westmore had been oblivious. He