Croning, The by Barron Laird

Author:Barron, Laird [Barron, Laird]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Novel, Horror
ISBN: 9781597804141
Publisher: Night Shade Books
Published: 2012-06-08T17:33:14+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

Bluebeard’s Husband

(Now)

1.

Though his days were busy after Michelle departed, Don initiated further measures to minimize the solitude of the empty house. He invited Argyle Arden and Turk Standish for a barbeque over the weekend, and inveigled Harris Camby, the former Pierce County Sheriff, to attend as well—promising ale and horseshoes. Harris was a formidable presence in the pits; even when the sheriff was dead-drunk none of his friends or colleagues could hope to match his prowess.

Saturday proved lovely; a bright, warm afternoon hinted at the possibility of a prolonged summer. Don grilled ribs and served steins of Irish stout to his friends. As midday slowly ceded to a soft, hazy twilight, he lounged on the porch with Argyle. Harris and his grandson Lewis were methodically drubbing Turk and Argyle’s companion for the day, a preppy grad student named Hank. Hank, a beefy kid in a heavy Norwegian sweater and fancy slacks, sweated and scowled, apparently displeased at Harris’s wry commentary regarding the boy’s game, and possibly even more so with Turk’s complacency about being thoroughly shelled. His face flushed red as a fired brick and he drank too many rum and Cokes for Don’s comfort.

The conversation meandered, being of no consequence beyond a pleasant diversion, when Argyle took his pipe stem from between his teeth and said, “Has Michelle gotten anywhere with her survey?” He meant, of course, the genealogical research and translations she’d chipped away at for decades. It had once been a hobby, a method of easing her tensions and frustrations during the inevitable setbacks and disappointments in discovering the Lost Tribe.

“I gather yes. She’s in there, going great guns.”

Argyle chuckled. “She’s a terrier with a bone. Always been that way when it comes to her passions.”

“We don’t discuss it, really. Over my head.”

“Hrmm. You’ve got rocks for brains, is why. I hope she publishes her findings. The work is quite intricate. Her piece regarding the demographical data of her ancestors’ principal migratory trajectories is remarkable. Admittedly, I did collaborate on particular bits of procedural documentation—”

“If you look closely, you’ll note my eyes are glazing.”

“Bah. How’s Kurt doing?”

“Fine, fine. I called him yesterday. He’s laid up at home. Says Winnie’s rubbing his feet and feeding him grapes.”

“Hah! I hope she doesn’t hear him running at the mouth or I’d bet good money he’s a dead man.” Argyle sucked on his pipe. “If Kurt’s okay, then what’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m happy as a clam at high tide. The weather is marvelous, yeah? The house is all mine for a while—”

“About that.”

Don waited and when it seemed as if his friend wouldn’t continue his thought, he said, “What about it? Afraid I’ll go stir crazy? No chance of that, not with tending Michelle’s vegetables and puttering about.”

“Yes, it sounds swell. But that’s not what I meant. What I mean is, it’s a shame you two inherited this place.” Argyle swallowed some beer and gestured vaguely with his pipe. “Let’s face it, with the exception of Michelle, the Mocks are seriously strange.

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