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  Grind Manor

  International selling author, Russ Crossley writes science fiction and fantasy, and mystery/suspense as well as their various subgenres.

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  Grind Manor

  An Amanda Dark paranormal mystery

  Russ Crossley

  Published by 53rd Street Publishing

  Copyright 2015 Russ Crossley

  All rights reserved

  Cover art © Ancello | Dreamstime.com

  Cover designed by R. Edgewood

  Cover design and layout copyright 2015 by 53rd Street Publishing

  53rd Street Publishing

  Head office: Gibsons B.C. Canada

  www.53rdstreetpublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

  Grind Manor

  An Amanda Dark paranormal mystery

  Amanda Dark stood on the cracked cement sidewalk in front of the crumbling manor house where the taxi had dropped her with one hand buried in the pocket of her wool coat shivering in the cool fall air. In the other hand she held a worn brown leather satchel containing two heavy duty flashlights, three wax candles, a small case with nail files, a set of various size screw drivers, and a box of wooden matches. Like the girl scouts she was always prepared.

  Golden, crimson, and burnt orange leaves danced in the westerly breeze. As if stirred by some unseen hand, the leaves tumbled across the weathered blacktop of the deserted street in front of her. Ignoring the leaves her gray-green eyes scanned both directions of the street. The air smelled of fall rot mingled with the lingering odor of charcoal from trash fires in the surrounding neighborhoods.

  A shiver travelled through her body. She wished one of those fires were here right now. She wasn't what people describe as lean, but she wasn't fat either so she wasn't a fan of the cold. She liked to think of herself as a medium build sun worshipper.

  Phil certainly seemed to enjoy snuggling with her on the sofa on cold nights watching old movies. She shifted her feet back and forth to try and keep her circulation going. There were no cars in sight. Where could he be?

  No calls...her cell phone in her coat pocket beeped. Ah, ha.

  Taking the phone out she peered at the small screen and saw Phillip Swann's office phone number. She uttered a soft curse under her breath as she keyed the green answer button, then brought the phone to her right ear.

  "Yes, Phil?"

  "Uhhh, hi, sweetie. I know you're mad because I'm late but a client dropped in unexpectedly. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me?"

  Amanda smiled to herself. Phil sounded so cute when he begged. And a lawyers hours were often as bad as a paranormal investigators she really couldn't be mad at him. She'd just let him think she was annoyed, it might get her a free dinner. She arched an eyebrow hoping it might reflect in her voice.

  "How long?" She couldn't conceal the amused edge in her tone. A quick glance to the glowing horizon told her sunset was less than ten minutes away and unless Phil had wings there was no way he'd be here in ten minutes.

  "I'll be there in twenty."

  "You better." Cutting the connection without a goodbye hoping by doing so to add to his incentive to hurry. Amanda dropped the phone into the pocket of her coat. Her brow wrinkled. Ever since they met on Hook Island where she'd helped Phillip clear his family name they'd been seeing each other regularly.

  It wasn't exactly a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship by the traditional definition but they had been spending a lot of time together for two people that weren't dating. Of course since he started getting requests at his law practice where her unique services were the perfect fit, they had worked together on a number of cases. It was as if some unseen force were bringing them together for some as yet undefined purpose.

  A soft mew at her feet made her look down and sure enough Scars sat on his haunches gazing up at her with his black eyes, his black tail tipped with white flicked back and forth. The ghost of the 18th century pirate captain's cat had been her contestant companion since returning from Hook Island. She didn't mind actually. Scars made good company, and he didn't need food or a litter box so he traveled well. In other words the perfect pet for someone who didn't want a pet. Of course, a ghost cat that can pass through solid objects made him handy to scout out an old house or tomb for her.

  She chuckled to herself. Scars had been her ghost scout cat since he decided to adopt her. Just like living cats, ghost cats adopted you not the other way around.

  Phil couldn't see Scars only she could. This new ability of hers (with Scars help) to survey a house or tomb before they entered seemed to impress him Phil even more. He already knew about her empathic abilities, another handy feature for someone in her profession.

  She dismissed the idea of her and Phil being more than friends. They enjoyed each other's company, a few snuggles, and a few kisses, but that's all. And they were both unattached so how did a little harmless flirting between consenting adults hurt anyone? She certainly didn't have any plans to sleep with him, though he did stir her juices like no one had before.

  Clearing her thoughts of such things she turned her attention to the long abandoned manor house beyond the steel fence guarding the perimeter of the over grown yard. Ancient, gnarled and knotted trees dotted the property reminding her of arthritic old men twisted by time and age. The once lush gardens were overgrown by weeds and choked by vines. The lengthening shadows gave the vines the appearance of invading snakes twisting and grasping the remaining bushes and gnarled trees as if choking the life from them. An occasional bird call cut through the swoosh of the strengthening breeze.

  It was a decidedly creepy old house sitting in the middle of a neglected property. The brick framed house rose three stories The rows of windows on each floor facing the street were dark the brick facade tinged green by moss. The house had a sagging wrap around porch and an ornately carved front door with a massive door knocker shaped like a dragon with it's mouth open as if spitting fire.

  From her research, Amanda learned the house had been abandoned in the 1960's after the death of the family’s only daughter, sister to the two male twin brothers. One brother hired Phil's law firm to represent him in an estate dispute with his twin. They were all the children of the recently deceased, Lord and Lady Grind who fled to America after an insurrection in the African nation where they'd lived for over twenty years. The couples lives ended in a private plane mishap outside Paris two years ago.

  According to spookrumormill.com these days Grind Manor had one lone occupant. A ghost. Specifically the ghost of the sister. Her name was Priscilla. She died of pneumonia at the age of twenty-three.

  Bertram Grind hired Phil to find a copy of another will hidden somewhere in this house. He'd claimed the house was haunted and when he tried to enter on his own the ghost chased him off. He'd been too afraid to enter ever since.

  Phil contracted Amanda to clear the house of the dead sister's spirit so Bertram could search the house to find the wayward will. While it wasn't really her business, Amanda suspected the will in question differed from the one his twin, Maxwell Grind, had presented to a probate judge which bequeathed him a substantial portion of his parents, the Lord and Ladyship Grind's very affluent estate holdings.

  According to newspaper reports, Bertram hadn't been cut out completely, but the amount reported was no where near the inheritance of his twin brother. Phil only told her Bertram disagreed with this assessment of his situation.

  I may be just the paranormal investigator but I can read between the lines like anyone else. Bertram's slice of the old family pie mu
st be miniscule compared to his brother. In fact she suspected the difference is measured by how many zeroes there are behind the words many, many millions.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when a taxi pulled up to the curb and stopped. Phil shot out of the back seat stepping onto the sidewalk and waved to her, his handsome features split by a wide smile. Every time they met he seemed pleased to see her as if they hadn’t seen each other for a long time.

  "Hi," she called her cheeks were warm even in the cool breeze. Phillip always made her heart rate rise and her breath come harder. One day she would act on this, but today was not the day. There was work to be done first.

  The trees surrounding the old house had begun to stir swaying in the rising force of the wind. The branches brushed each other like the ancient arms of old men. Amanda shivered and pulled up the wool collar of her coat holding it tighter around her neck. She hoped it didn't snow this early in the fall or getting cab to this end of Boston would be an almost impossible challenge.

  Phil moved to the curb side of the cab and leaned in the window of the passenger side handing the drive a few bills. "Keep the change," she heard him say.

  She didn't hear the drivers reply, but the light on the roof of the car lit up and he sped away. She watched the yellow and black car until it disappeared around a corner at the end of the block.

  "Whew. It's cold out here," said Phillip who joined her with his hands buried in the pockets of his ankle length leather overcoat. "Why didn't you wait inside?"

  "I like to survey the outside before I enter a haunted house," Amanda explained. "Besides I didn't want the client to think I'd walk off with the will if I tripped over it by accident."

  He eyed her up and down. "What's with the runners?"

  "In case I need to make a fast getaway."

  Phil smiled. "OK, but let's go inside. It's wayyyy too cold out here." He approached the steel gate and pulled it open with one gloved hand. The hinges shrieked but the heavily rusted gate swung aside surprisingly easy. The orange crust covering the steel shattered and rained down on the path like rusty snow.

  Ever the gentleman, Phil entered first then held the gate open for her. Amanda cast a shy smile as she walked past him. His eyes sparkled at her in the gathering dusk as she went by. Her eyes drifted from his to the windows on the second floor. A flash of white light made her stop. She peered at the windows. The light didn't reappear. As expected they'd already attracted some spectral attention.

  Her brow wrinkled and she arched an eyebrow. The house had been abandoned for decades; she doubted the electricity had been left on. "I think I saw our ghost," she said.

  "Really? Where?" Amanda pointed to the darkened windows on the second floor. "I don't see anything," said Phil.

  "I saw a light in one of those windows." She locked eyes with Phil. "I don't think the electricity's on, do you?" He shook his head. "Let's go." After she approached the wrap around front porch she stopped to open the satchel. She took out the two flashlights, handing one to Phil, she clicked hers on. The brilliant white light cut through the growing darkness illuminating the front porch. At the edge of the beam Amanda spotted movement and brief flashes of small yellow eyes. This was immediately followed by the furious sound of tiny toe nails scratching the boards as rodents clambered over each other to escape the sudden intrusion.

  None of this surprised her. Many an old house's occupants were of the vermin variety once the humans vacated. At least the living humans. It often occurred to her there had to be reasons why the rats and mice weren't afraid of ghosts and ghouls. Do they know something we don't?

  Amanda stopped as she tested the boards on the first of three short steps leading from the weed infested footpath to the porch. It seemed solid enough. "One at a time, Phil. Just in case," she added nodding at the gray weathered wooden planks underfoot. He nodded.

  Turning away she carefully walked up the three steps until she stood on the porch. The boards creaked but appeared strong enough to hold her weight. Their combined weight might be another matter. She raised one hand to signal to Phil to wait. Just as she did she froze, her empathic ability detected something — something that bothered her. At the edge of Amanda's awareness she sensed a distinct feeling of grief. A surge of sorrow so deep it shook her to the core of her being.

  Something bad, something very bad, had happened here. She sensed pure anger from the ghost. It seemed to be an all consuming anger, and in her experience this isn't a good state for a spirit. She didn't sense any evil presence behind it, just a deep sadness leading to frustration. No wonder Bertram had fled the house in panic. If she didn't have her experience with ghosts such feelings could be very frightening.

  (I'm reading panic into Phil's sketchy description of Bertram's flight so don't take me literally. I have no idea how he flew — or should I say ran —from the house? Phil really has to learn to be more exact in his descriptions of events. I require as much information going into an unknown situation as possible if I'm to do my job properly.)

  She started walking again until she stood at the front door. The finish on the door was peeling but still appeared solid. The dragon shaped knocker was made of solid brass with an oval shaped loop of brass affixed to the knocker just below the dragon's head. The brass was severely tarnished from the weather. Not surprising given it had been here since Grind Manor was constructed in 1947.

  Amanda thought about using the ornate door knocker but dismissed the idea as silly. Only the dead were home and from what she'd sensed they weren't going to be all that welcoming to the living.

  She hesitated. This was the first time since she and Phil joined forces she felt failure had such a high price. Why? Something nagged at the back of her mind, A darkness. It was as if her empathic ability were warning her. She shook off the feeling. In her job she'd seen a lot of scary stuff, why would this job be any different, but she was having difficulty shaking off her growing sense of unease.

  Gripping the brass door knob she turned it and discovered the door was unlocked. Glancing over her left shoulder she nodded to Phil who still stood on the steps waiting to walk forward. She didn't want him to break an ankle if the boards on the deck gave way. She heard a click as the door latch disengaged then used the flat of her other hand to push the door in. It swung on rusty hinges creaking in the silence. It occurred to her the birds making crying noises from the ancient trees on the overgrown property had ceased since she entered through the gate. Weird may be her business but this was too weird.

  Scars skittered by her legs as he disappeared into the interior. She wasn't concerned about him. After all he was dead already so what was the worst that could happen to him?

  Peering through the murky air at the interior beyond the door the dust floating in the still air supported the claim the house had been abandoned for a long time. Streams of waning sunlight cut through the murky windows splashing spotlights of light across the dirty tiled entry in the foyer. In the shadows she could make out a small table set against the short wall at the base of the staircase. On the table rested a half-moon shaped lamp with a dusty cloth shade covering the light fixture. Cobwebs draped across every surface and hung off the curved banister guarding the wide staircase that swept upward to disappear into the darkness.

  Amanda stepped inside and waved for Phil to follow. She noticed he had donned leather gloves. Was he concerned about leaving fingerprints or touching something icky? Probably both, she mused. She wished now she'd remembered to bring hers.

  After pulling out the other flashlight she flicked the switch on the casing and the powerful halogen light came on easily chasing the darkness away. Using the beam as her guide she scanned the foyer and saw the two French made rosewood chairs coated in thick gray dust one each on either side of the table where the lamp sat.

  She swept away cobwebs that hung like a curtain from the ceiling with the satchel as she moved farther into the room. The heavy scent of must and mold filled her nose and mouth. Suddenly Scars appeared running toward
her from her left his glowing emerald eyes reflecting by the beam of light from the flashlight. She was glad for Phil's inability to see the cat, if he had he'd have probably been freaked out. Scars ran everywhere he went so his abrupt and hurried reappearance didn't startle her in the least.

  Scanning her surroundings she saw three sets of twin oak doors exiting off the foyer. One each left and right and one at the bottom of the staircase. She picked the one at bottom of the staircase to investigate first. She set the satchel on the table beside the lamp. She had considered going upstairs to find the room with the window facing the front of the house where she'd spotted the glow but decided she first better see if they could find the library or study. They were here to find a will and that room seemed the most likely location. The ghost could wait, for now.

  "Let's find the library," said Phil from behind her echoing her thoughts.

  She grinned to herself. They were so often in sync it scared her.

  She moved to the doors she selected and turned the brass doorknob. She swung the door open and shone the light inside. Through the floating dust she saw the room was indeed the library. A thick Persian rug covered the floor. The gold, royal blue and crimson pattern had a thick coat of dust obscuring its once ornate pattern. An oak desk the size of small car sat to one side of a floor to ceiling stone fireplace. Amanda stepped inside batting at the cobwebs with her free hand. Phil came in after her closing the door on its squeaky hinges.

  "Do you think there's a safe somewhere?" Amanda asked her eyes focused on the framed painting on the wall behind the desk. Two walls contained floor to ceiling bookshelves.

  "Yeah. For sure," breathed Phil his voice low. "This place is really something."

  "It sure is, Phil, but where would the safe be?" A faint odor of whiskey and stale cigar smoke lingered in the air. To her this signaled the room had been used frequently in the past for after dinner business back in the day.

  "Uhhh...I suggest the painting?" Phil swung the beam from his flashlight over the painting. The subject was a sallow-cheeked man with a gray beard and dark, serious eyes. He was dressed in 18th century clothing of a type she'd seen in many of these old houses and the tangled mass of his hair was comprised of black and gray strands. A metal plate affixed at the bottom edge of the wood frame read, Lord Grind 1744-1799.