East Salem Trilogy 01-Waking Hours by Lis Wiehl & Pete Nelson

Author:Lis Wiehl & Pete Nelson [Wiehl, Lis]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Supernatural Mystery, Demons, Salem, Murder Mystery, Paranormal Suspense, Forensic Psychiatrist
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2011-10-04T07:00:00+00:00

21.

Tommy made pasta e fagioli with homegrown tomatoes and herbs and a smidgen of Naga Jolokia peppers for zest, with a mushroom risotto and a garden salad. As the son of a nursery owner, he’d been spoiled with fresh produce all his life and had been delighted when he learned the house he wanted to buy came with a greenhouse. He made enough food to serve four because he was cooking for himself, his father, and Lucius, who had the appetite of two.

After dinner Tommy drove to George Gardener’s house. He brought along, as a housewarming gift, presuming George would let him in the house, a dozen dark brown eggs from his henhouse. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but he was certain George knew more than he’d let on in the basement of the hardware store.

It was dark when Tommy reached the Gardener farm. A light shone in an upstairs window, the only indication that the house wasn’t abandoned. Weeds grew in front of the porch nearly as high as the railings. A chest of drawers sat next to the front door with the top drawer half open, where Tommy saw three grease-stained plastic quart containers of motor oil. The mailbox held two leather work gloves and a pair of hedge clippers. A cat’s litter box at the far end of the porch divided a stack of collapsed cardboard boxes from bundles of old newspapers tied with twine. There were two lantern-style porch lights to either side of the door, but neither of them contained a lightbulb.

The doorbell appeared to be out of order as well.

He knocked.

Nothing.

He waited, then knocked again.

Nothing.

He knocked a third time and waited another minute before concluding that either no one was home or he wasn’t welcome. In anticipation of either event, he’d written a note that said, I’m Tommy Gunderson. We spoke at the hardware store about chickens. I was hoping to have a word with you. Please call me. And enjoy the eggs—they’re fresh. He’d included the numbers for both his cell phone and his landline, as well as his e-mail address, though the chances that George Gardener was online were slim. He left the eggs in front of the door, where George was sure to see them, then thought better and moved them to the mailbox, where George wouldn’t step on them.

As Tommy walked back down the long gravel drive to his car, a distance of perhaps a quarter mile, he became aware of a presence. He was certain that someone was watching him. He turned to look back toward the house. He saw nothing moving, no window curtains pulled aside, no window shades lifted higher than they’d been before. Whoever—or whatever—was watching him was not in the house.

He kept walking without changing his pace, glancing about in the darkness but trying not to let on that he knew someone was there.

Then he saw it, the dark silhouette of a man at the edge of the field to his right, moving parallel along the tree line.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.