The Tea Party - A Novel of Horror by Charles L. Grant Read Free Book Online Page A

it was almost time to force him into a decision. Not that he wasn’t aware of her plans for him, and not that he had ever given her any solid encouragement. On more than one occasion over the past five years she had thought with certainty he would ask her to marry him, yet she had not pushed him because she knew she had plenty of time. She had not pushed, and Doug had not asked, and more than one tavern regular had told her with a sly wink that if she didn’t get moving she’d surely lose him to that blond lawyer who lived over in Meadow View with her two children.
    She had not pushed, and time, without her realizing it, had run out on her. Only a few days remained, if that, and then it would be too late.
    She knew it would help her courage a lot if she loved him, but she wasn’t sure she knew exactly what love was, or would even know it if it came up and bit her on the rump. God knew she had had her share of failures, spectacular and otherwise, the latest though not the most painful one with a man from New York City who thought it marvelously quaint that she lived in what he laughingly called bucolic isolation, a throwback to the pioneer days when men were men and women were women and the only thing they had to do in winter was fuck their little brains out while the snow piled up to the roof.
    That he was a lousy lay didn’t help, and that he refused to leave the city for Deerford sounded the death knell.
    She shook herself to shed the disgust, ran a steady hand though her curly black hair and stood, walking stiffly back into the kitchen where she busied herself with the kettle and the instant coffee. She checked her watch and sighed. Two o’clock. One more hour and she would have to head next door, open the tavern, and get ready for the influx of the Friday crowd. There were a few, generally the newcomers like those in Meadow View, who wondered aloud and not very politely why she didn’t open the place as early as the law allowed. On Saturdays she did; the rest of the week there was no call for it. The Shade Tree had its own liquor license and the lunch crowd, such as it was in a place like this, and she didn’t think she really had to work herself frazzled to the nub just to provide a shot of rye for the drunks and Bloody Marys for those desperate for the hair of the dog.
    And she certainly didn’t need the money. The Depot provided for her well enough. Her needs were quite simple. Certainly more simple than most of them knew. Deerford proper never complained, and the others . . . they only waited for her to open the damned bar.
    Now if she could only get Doug to move his butt out of the Hollow and into her bed, she could show him that just because she didn’t have big tits or long legs didn’t mean she didn’t know a thing or two about screwing around, or making love.
    Her abrupt laugh was short, bell-clear, mirthful, and she shrugged. In good time, Judy dear, all in good time. Don’t panic. Keep calm. If you lose him too it won’t be the first time.
    The coffee made, she took her cup to the back door and looked out, hoping that maybe Casey would be there. He wasn’t. Her eyes closed and she muttered a short prayer, warning him to be careful, warning him to stay away from Winterrest today.
    Damnit, Sis, I saw that light, he had protested vehemently on Tuesday morning. It was upstairs, in back, one of the bedrooms, I guess. It was there, and I wasn’t drunk.
    But he was drunk when he told her, or well on his way—the first time he had slipped in over a year. She had been so furious at him for his weakness, and for what he might say to the wrong people at the wrong time, that she had hauled off and slapped him, so hard her palm stung and she had to blow on it to keep it from bursting into flame. Casey had staggered back a step, his eyes gone wide, his lower lip trembling, and before she could turn away he had burst into pathetic tears. He stumbled around the house weeping, raising his fists to heaven and