Best New England Crime Stories 2012 by Mark Ammons

Author:Mark Ammons
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: crime, mystery, anthology, short stories, new england, award winners, al blanchard award
Publisher: Mark Ammons

Win MacLeod wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his blue-plaid flannel shirt before setting up another log. He’d been splitting wood since dawn and still couldn’t control the anger that he’d gone to bed with the evening before.

Cassie was going to leave him. She’d announced it right at the dinner table as if she was telling him about some new recipe or dress pattern she’d found.

Jesus, they’d been together since high school. He brought the ax down—sending wood flying in every direction. The physical act helped keep his rage in control while adding to the cords he’d sell in the fall.

He took off his shirt, sat down on the stump he’d been using to split the wood, and took a cool drink of water from the old pail he’d filled from the spring. His hand shook as he drank from the ladle.

Today was Sunday. Cassie would normally be getting ready for the eight o’clock Mass at St. Anthony’s Church on Main Street about now. He looked toward the house and saw her moving about the kitchen. So she was up.

Cassie was going to leave him, but not for another man. She wanted him to sell his farm—the farm that had been in his family since 1719 when his Scottish ancestors had come to New Hampshire and settled in Ashgill. For almost three-hundred years, a MacLeod had lived on and worked this land. The original Skye Farm, named for the Isle of Skye that they’d hailed from, had close to three hundred acres, and now it was down to twenty-five, with half of that hills. He knew he could easily work it for another seven years and then turn it over to their son, Ian. Ian would surely be ready to come back home by then.

Win dipped his shirt in the leftover water and washed the rest of the sweat from his face. He couldn’t let her leave. He threw down his shirt and strode to the side door. He scraped his boots, leaving them on, and marched into the kitchen.

Cassie stood at the sink filling the coffee pot from the tap. He noticed her back stiffen as she heard him enter. “Morning, Cassie,” he said.

She didn’t turn to look at him, but she did mumble something that sounded like “Morning.” He watched as she poured the water into the coffee machine. She added a paper filter and a few scoops of ground coffee before pushing the start button. Win looked at the clock. It was dang close to eight o’clock and she was still in her bathrobe and slippers.

“Ain’t you going to church?” he asked.

She turned and looked at him for the first time since he’d come in to the house. Her eyes were puffy, like she’d been crying all night. He guessed maybe she had, but he couldn’t rightly tell as he’d fallen into a deep sleep after their fight last night.

“I’m not going this morning,” she said.

“Are you sick?”

“Sick? Am I sick? Yes, I’m sick,” she yelled.

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