Nursery Tale by T. M. Wright Read Free Book Online Page B

looked up at his brother-in-law. "Give me the bracelet, Manny!"
    Manny obeyed instantly. Clyde's tone had become severe, even threatening.
    "Manny, this here ain't no rock. It's a pelvic bone." He wiped the bracelet clean with his handkerchief.
    "It's a what , Clyde?"
    "A pelvic bone. From somebody's pelvis, from Mark Collins's pelvis." He tucked the bracelet under the bone, back where Manny had found it.
    "Clyde, what would you know about bones?"
    "I'm the volunteer fire chief, right, Manny?! And as a consequence of that I seen lotsa bones. I seen skull bones and I seen wrist bones and backbones, and I seen pelvic bones, too. And this here is a pelvic bone. And I'll tell you somethin' else, Manny, somethin' I hope makes you real sick, 'cuz I don't wanta know about this man here, or what's left of him, and I don't wanta know we found him, and I'm real upset that you found him, so I want you to be sick when I tell you that someone's been gnawin' on this pelvic bone here! I don't know what's been gnawin' on it—a coyote or a bobcat, maybe. Maybe not. But somethin'. And I'm gonna tell you one more thing, Manny"—he started for the car at a fast walk. Manny followed—"I'm gonna tell you," Clyde shouted over his shoulder, "that if you ever so much as mention one word to anyone about this, about what we found out here, even if you mention it to that skinny little wife of yers—"
    "Clyde, she's yer sister!"
    "Even to her, Manny, then your ass is grass and I'm the mower. I'm tellin' you that right now, and I'll tell you again tomorrow, and the next day, 'cuz I don't want no part of somebody's fuckin' murder, you hear that, Manny, no part, no way, and you better remember—"
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    T immy Meade asked, "Think you'd ever come out here at night, Sam?"
    Sam Wentis considered the question a moment. "Sure," he said, with conviction. "Ain't nothin' here at night that's not here in the day. My father told me that and I guess it's true."
    Timmy Meade smiled to himself. Sam Wentis so rarely talked about his adoptive parents. "Is that what your father said? Sounds real good to me."
    "But I knew it all along, anyway."
    "I know you did, Sam."
    "'Course, there's things out here in the day you got to be real careful of."
    "Yeah, I know, Sam. I heard there's timber rattlers, and maybe some brown bears . . ."
    In unison, they stopped walking. They had reached the edge of the forest—above them, the full and overhanging branches of two beech trees side by side formed a perfect, natural archway. From here, they had a grand, panoramic view of Granada, a half mile off, bathed in the dull, orange glow of sunset.
    "My dad told me we'll probably all get stuck out here this winter," Timmy Meade said. "Because the road's too narrow and they'd better widen it. But, heck, I hope they don't widen it. Just think of all the days we'll have off from school, Sam." He waited for some response but got none. "Sam?"
    And, after a moment, Sam Wentis whispered, "Shit damn!" He repeated it once, louder. Then again, even louder. And then he took off at a loping and impossibly graceful run toward Granada. He had always been a very graceful and quick child.

Chapter 7
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    October 10, Late Evening
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    W ith the tips of her fingers, Janice McIntyre gently traced the slight swelling at her abdomen. She thought, Hello, little one ; it made her feel suddenly foolish. She hoped Miles wouldn't wake, see that she wasn't in bed, and come looking for her. Sure, he'd be able to understand that "pregnant women need their special, private moments, Miles," but maybe he'd think there was something wrong, something she wasn't telling him, and wouldn't she really rather he stayed and talked with her a while? But, she considered, his day had been long and wearisome—he'd probably sleep well past the alarm.
    She seated herself at the breakfast nook; she reached to her left for the light switch and decided, no, the near-darkness was better (Miles had installed a