Those Who Mourn: A Wolf Creek Mystery (Wolf Creek Mysteries Book 1) by Barbara Bartholomew

Author:Barbara Bartholomew [Bartholomew, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-10-16T18:30:00+00:00

The visitor’s name was Perry ‘Red’ Lawrence. Apparently the bushy white hair had once been such a bright red that his friends had dubbed him with the obvious nickname. And now, thanks to Grandpa’s invitation, his status had elevated from visitor to houseguest. His room was the one to the right of David’s own, the next few steps down the long hall.

Late that night, David set in one of the big chairs in the living room, sipping at coffee to keep himself awake, unwilling to go to bed and leave his grandfather alone with this loquacious stranger.

The two old men enjoyed a festival of memory. One would mention an event from their joint boyhood and both would be off, proving that though they could sometimes forget what they had done yesterday, they had detailed and explicit recall for the events of the past.

Both had grown up out in the country and were now discussing the days when, back in the forties, they had been twelve-year-olds, traveling the seventeen miles from their neighboring farms on foot, walking all the way if not offered a ride by a passing neighbor, to spend an exciting day in Wolf Creek.

Grandpa’s own grandparents already lived in this very house, but as he laughingly explained, his strict grandmother hadn’t exactly welcomed two rowdy youngsters into her very proper home.

Red joined his friend’s laughter. “She thought I was a bad influence who led you into evil ways,” he said. “That old lady had a poker up her spine. As straight-laced as they came. She would have had us sitting in these chairs, singing hymns every day, if she could have managed.”

“She wasn’t that bad,” Grandpa protested. “Grandmother just had her own notions of how things should be done and her idea of a boy’s life was a little different than mine. Also she and Mama didn’t see eye to eye. She thought my mother had been brought up on the wrong side of the tracks and Mama and Papa never made a lot of money and preferred life out on the farm instead of going into business with my grandpa. She saw it as her job to introduce me to the polite world.”

Red cracked a laugh. “I guess a red-headed country boy didn’t exactly fit into her plans.”

The two went on to tell David about a trip to the picture show they’d seen on one of those fabled Saturday’s, detailing so exactly the film, something called Trail of the Lonesome Pine, that he felt he had almost seen it himself.

“Afterwards, the town boys ran us off,” Red said, “and we had to creep along the road in the dark with the coyotes howling in the pastures around us because nobody was headed toward home at that time of night.”

Grandpa chuckled. “But not before we’d bloodied a few noses,” he pointed out.

“Well, I seem to remember I was enjoying a blackened eye myself. My pa just looked at me the next morning and then said, “I see you had a good time last night.

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