Randall #01 - The Best Revenge Read Online Free PDF Page B

nobody else she could rely on to take her to New York clubs or parties.
    She wasn’t looking forward to this vacation. Her mother’s communications had been cryptic, which probably meant she was busy with a Project. If it was redecorating the Hall again, summer would be pure hell.
    Plantagenet had better be back to normal.
    She’d had a postcard from him, right after she got to school, saying he’d got back to New York OK. Plus he’d sent a Groundhog’s Day card. It had been Groundhog’s Day, two years ago, when she first met Plantagenet at Kiki Longworth’s sub-deb party.
    The thought had been sweet, even though the card didn’t make much sense. It showed a cartoon of a large rodent in Shakespearean dress, looking at its shadow. The caption read, “Who is wishing thee a happy Groundhog Day?” Inside, the printed message read “ iamb, iamb, iamb !” Underneath Plant had written only one line— “Have decided I must learn to cast my own shadow, Camel, dear, if I am to end the winter of my discontent.” He’d signed it, “all my love, Plantagenet.”
    ~
    The iron gates to Randall Hall stood open as she drove up the narrow, winding road to the gray stone building she had always called home. She thought about how Plantagenet usually started making jokes when they reached this point, calling the Hall “the castle keep” or “the House of Nevermore”. Now, for the first time, she could see it through his eyes. The crenellated stone towers did look forbidding, as if ravens should be perched on the battlements quoting enigmatic finalities from Edgar Allen Poe.
    At least the gates were already open, which meant Mother must be expecting her after all. She had tried to call home several times in the past couple of weeks and never got an answer. But her mother had a copy of the college catalogue, so the date of the semester’s end was sure to have made its way into the leather-bound appointment book.
    However, an annoying number of vehicles were parked in the circular drive in front of the house. One was a large truck identified with the name Sotheby Park-Bernet.
    So the redecorating had begun.
    But even worse—much, much worse—behind the Sotheby’s truck was a white Cadillac with vanity plates from the state of Arkansas that read, “CHIK 1.”
    Camilla slammed the brakes. She could not face this. Dealing with her mother in one of her decorating frenzies would be bad enough, but being confronted with Lester Stokes would be unbearable. How could Mother have invited that horrible man into their house again?
    Camilla drove back to the fork that led to the stables. She would visit Lord Peter and have a comfortable chat with her old friend Hank, the stableman, who always called her “Princess” and never acted as if she was in the way the way her dad always did.
    “Hank! I’m home!” She jumped from the car and ran toward the gray, weathered stables. “Lord Peter! I’ve come home!”
    But the door to the main barn hung open, swinging in the wind on one rusty hinge. It gave an ominous creak. She could hear no other sound.
    “Hank?” she called again. Everything inside was dark and silent. All ten stalls were empty. The air smelled damp and foul.
    She ran to the cottage where Hank had lived since before she was born. But the small stone house was empty and silent as the stable. Peeking in the window, she could see that even the furniture was gone.
    Feeling desolate, she walked back to the car. There could only be one explanation: Hank was dead. It must have been something horrible, because he wasn’t old—not much older than her mother. It was unforgivable that Mother hadn’t written about it.
    Now, anger gave Camilla enough courage to go back to the house, Lester Stokes or no Lester Stokes. As she marched in the open doorway, her mother was directing a number of workmen carrying the Steinway grand out of the music room into the foyer. Behind her was a large, unmistakable figure, dressed in snakeskin