Geek Fantasy Novel Read Online Free

into a damp cemetery. He placed a finger over his lips, though he did nothing to quiet his music. They bumped along a muddy willow-hemmed road until they arrived at a somber crowd surrounding a casket. Cecil parked at the end of a line of cars, respectfully removed his two baseball caps, placed them over his heart, and opened the car door.
    A bass-studded measure of
rump, rump, iza gonna thump ya rump
blasted over the gathered mourners. They turned to glare and took in not Cecil, who was protected from view by the vehicle, but Ralph, jet-lagged and puffy, jabbing at the radio in alarm as he simultaneously placed one ragged trainer/sneaker and then the other onto the wet grass.
    He beamed an apology to the indignant funeralgoers and then joined Cecil in crossing the lawn to assemble behind the rest of their huddled family. Gert — so serene as to be almost motionless, silver hair piled high — reached a hand out and pressed Ralph’s shoulder in much the same way one tests whether a roast beef has gone cold. The touch was soon over, and when he smiled at her, Ralph saw Gert pat her powdery hair with a liver-spotted hand. He nodded solemnly, stared at the shining casket, and wished he had a tie around his neck and a comb in his back pocket.
    If any event calls for silent reflection, a funeral surely does. Ralph did his best to think tragic thoughts.
    It appeared that the corpse was a close friend of the Battersbys, since they lingered while the other attendees shot their regards and rushed back to their cars. Eventually Ralph; Gert; a man he assumed to be her husband, Gideon; and their three children were the only mourners left. Once the last guest’s car door slammed shut, Gert dropped all decorum and rested her arms on Ralph’s shoulders.
    “Welcome. Sorry about the funeral. Terrible timing. We’re so glad to have you. Everybody, this is Ralph. We all remember Ralph. His parents are Mary and Steve Stevens, who weren’t invited.”
    Everyone murmured a greeting except Cecil and the taller daughter, who kept her dark liquid gaze fixed on the shovelfuls of black earth being tossed on the coffin.
    The smaller daughter, a frilly little girl whose role in life was evidently to counter her older sister’s gloom, took Ralph’s hand and patted it as she bent into a mini-curtsy.
    “Hello, Daphne,” Ralph said. “We’ve never met, but your mother told me about you. I’m your cousin, Ralph. Have you heard of me?”
    “I’m Daphne!” she said, quite as if he hadn’t spoken. “Pleased to meet you. The sad girl is my sister, Beatrice. You drove in with Cecil. Those are Daddy and Mummy. I’m seven.” Daphne leaned closer and sparkled. “Some lady Daddy used to know
died.
And that dead lady, she’s Beatrice’s
real mummy.”
    Gert’s husband inserted himself between them. “I’m Gideon Battersby. Remember me?”
    “Your parents are Americans, aren’t they?” Daphne asked, peering at Ralph from around her father and pronouncing “Americans” like “Martians.”
    “Uncle Gideon. It’s been some time,” Ralph said. He tried to dredge up a memory of this stuffed eagle of a man, but came up short.
    “I swear,” Gideon said. “You were only a boy when I last saw you, and now look! I’m sorry I haven’t been over to the States very regularly. I tend to travel to the Far East when I go anywhere. Have you ever been, I wonder?” It sounded like the beginning of a speech, and sure enough, the rest of the family inched away, leaving Ralph alone when he politely answered that he hadn’t.
    Gert lifted six silver inches of stiletto heel from the muddy grass, only to see it stab back into the earth when she lowered her foot. “Ooh!” she exclaimed with a twitch, effectively shutting down Gideon’s blooming oration on Indonesian politics. “Let’s go home and warm up. We’ll have some hot chocolate.”
    “Yay!” Daphne squealed, taking her father’s hand and clapping it.
    The family processed toward the two