Night Relics by James P. Blaylock Read Free Book Online Page B

mentioned the boyfriend. She was attracted to him, but was a little too
    modest to be open about it. She just wanted a little space at first, and that was all right.
    Or maybe she
had
seen him up on the hill, and was threatening him with the boyfriend. He tried to read her face, looking deeply into her eyes.
    He couldn’t see any suspicion there, or any fear. She trusted him.
    “I tried to pet Mr. Ackroyd’s cat,” he said, opening his hand now, “but the darned thing took a swipe at me. First time that’s
    happened. We’re old friends.”
    She nodded. “You ought to have someone look at it, old friends or not. Cat scratches as deep as those are dangerous.”
    “My car’s just up the road,” Pomeroy said, falling in beside her and heading toward where the Thunderbird sat at the turnout.
    “I’ve got a first-aid kit in the trunk. Maybe you could help?” He looked her over, his eyes stopping for a moment on her breasts.
    She glanced at him and he pulled his eyes away, embarrassed. “Where you headed?”
    “Just out walking,” she said.
    “Like a ride somewhere?” He could sense that she understood him, or at least would be open to the idea of … He couldn’t define
    it too clearly. He wondered if she lived nearby, maybe in one of the isolated houses out here in the canyon.
    “No, thank you. I’m headed up toward the ridge, actually. I like to walk. Walking gives me time to think.”
    He considered asking her to drive his car for him. He could plead cat bite, say he was feeling shaky. But maybe it would be
    too much too soon. “What’s your sign?” he asked.
    “I don’t know,” she said. “I think it’s neon.”
    Pomeroy laughed. He liked that, a woman who could joke. He had worked hard to develop his sense of humor.That was invaluable for a salesman. It was a very human thing, a sense of humor, and was attractive to people.
    “You live out here?” he asked.
    “No,” she said. “My boyfriend does.”
    “How about you? Where do you live?” He pictured her in a small house, lace curtains, far enough from the prying eyes of neighbors
    so that she wasn’t fastidious about her privacy. He wondered what her habits were when she was alone. Linda had been very
    free when she thought she was alone, very uninhibited.
    “Locally,” she said.
    They were at the Thunderbird now, and he opened the trunk and took out the first-aid kit he carried. The canyon was full of
    hazards—snakes and animals. He liked to be prepared. It was the boy scout in him.
    Beth dabbed the cut with a gauze pad soaked in liquid from a little spray can of antiseptic. The bite was ragged and deep,
    but the bleeding had nearly stopped. She covered his palm with another pad, fixed it in place with tape, and then wrapped
    his hand with a strip of gauze bandage.
    Pomeroy barely noticed the throbbing in his hand now. Her face was close to his—closer than Linda’s had ever been. Beth trusted
    him. She cared about him,
for
him. He cocked his head and smiled at her, putting his whole heart into it.
    She stepped away. “There you go,” she said. “You still ought to see a doctor. Bacterial infections are pretty common in cat
    bites.”
    He nodded. “I
will.
Thanks. You know, it’s a pleasure to meet a beautiful woman out walking like this. Quite a surprise. Sure I can’t drop you
    somewhere?”
    “Very sure,” she said. “Thanks for asking.”
    Near the parked Thunderbird she stepped off the road and onto a trail that angled down toward the creek. He could see that
    it wound away upward on the other side, and there was a cut in the steep mountainside where the trail lost itself in the brush.
    Pomeroy unlocked the car, and gotin, watching her as she crossed the creek. Almost at once she was lost from view. He should have gone along with her. She
    would have enjoyed his company.
    He started the engine, certain that he would see her again. Synchronicity had brought them together. He could sense it. This
    was
meant
to happen, to