Blue Stew (Second Edition) by Nathaniel Woodland Read Free Book Online Page B

most modern-looking buildings in all of Sutherland, Vermont.
    A bell jingled, announcing the arrival of a customer.
    “Oh, good afternoon, Walter,” spoke a female voice from behind Walter.
    Walter set down a pumpkin and turned. Melisa Corey had just come in through the front entrance. Unthinkingly, Walter dusted off the grimy work clothes that Henry had lent him: Melisa was a good looking older woman.
    “Hi, Melisa.”
    “I’m surprised you came in today,” she stepped out of the way of the entrance as another customer opened the door, tinkling the bell.
    “So is everyone.”
    “ Hah . Then everyone’s heard, I take it?” she asked.
    “So far,” Walter grinned.
    “Well, five horrible deaths in one night . . .”
    “Yeah— what? Five? ”
    Melisa frowned, “So everyone hasn’t heard, then?”
    Walter drew his head back, making a confused, keep-talking sort of face.
    “Yes, poor Tom had only been home for an hour, the sun had already begun to come up, when the next call came in. Paul Stanley had been out walking his sap lines, the ones in the woods behind his house, when he came across the night’s fourth fatality . . . dismembered . . . hanging from a low branch . . . sap lines coiled around his neck . . .”
    Walter had enjoyed it too much to note how unnecessary the grisly details had been.
    “Fourth? So who was the third? ”
    “Well, this is how Tom’s been referencing them,” explained Melisa helpfully, like someone relaying a favorite recipe: “After that corpse was found, Tom radioed in all the local police, firefighters, and volunteer first-responders, and he had them sweep the stretch of woods from Paul’s house to Doris’s. A fifth victim was found within an hour. Had his head smashed against an old stone wall, over and over . . .”
    Walter didn’t even think to cringe out of civility, “But that’s still only four . . . ?”
    “Yes,” Melisa went on, “at that point, seeing how the river ran straight through this hotspot of unthinkable butchery, Tom instructed everyone to operate under the assumption that you in fact had seen a man floating down the river, even though you hadn’t been completely sure. They’re looking for him now, actually: Victim Number Two. Victim Number Three is also the leading suspect.”
    Up until now—tired and overwhelmed as he was—Walter had not spared any thought for the man in the river.
    “Oh yeah . Wow. I’m afraid to ask . . . have they identified any of the victims yet? Or their killer?”
    Melisa lifted her shoulders, “No . . . I’m sorry to say you’re pretty much up to speed at this point, Walter. Tom’s never seen or heard of anything like this.”
    “Who has?”
    Melisa nodded gravely.
    “Poor Tommy . . . I’m afraid he’s going to work himself into the loony bin with this one . . . but how are you? Tom’s supposed to deal with these things. You just had a night of horrific luck.”
    “No one’s supposed to deal with these things,” was all Walter said.
    Melisa appeared on the verge of protest, but didn’t, “You’re right.”
    A country song was subliminally filling the store, coming from a radio on a high shelf beyond the two nearby checkout aisles.
    “Anyway,” Melisa started fresh, “I heard you were here. I wanted to extend an invitation for you to come over to our place for dinner. I used to be good friends with your mom.”
    Walter—out of a reflex that would have him reject any act of generosity—was about to decline, when he thought about sitting down for dinner with Officer Tom Corey. That would be weird. Also, it would be an opportunity for him to immerse himself in the investigation again, which was another attractive prospect.
    “That’s very kind of you. Sure . Tonight?”
    “Well, I’m going to guess that if Tommy’s even home for dinner tonight, he will be a corpse himself.” Melisa reacted to her own joke with a quick sniff of distaste, “that’s not funny.”
    Walter laughed louder than he