Alive At Crepusculum ✓ [TPL Book One]

IX

Mallord insisted on an early dinner that Wednesday night because he wanted to go out for a walk. It was to clear his mind, he lied to his wife, and it helped him write. All that lying as his heart hammered with nerves. Penelope was sharp like he was and during his detective days, her ideas had occasionally brought him closer to a clue or even the culprit.

Absentmindedly, Mallord tapped his pencil on the plate, forgetting to hold a fork. With a jolt, he tucked the pencil behind his ear and picked up the fork. Then he tapped the fork, pretended to have an idea, and jotted down nothing on a pad of paper. The fork left scratch marks of letters and words.

"Oh, fik," he swore in a whisper and cleared his throat trying to hide what he just said. "How was work, honey?" He tried to bring the attention to her.

Through pleasant conversation, the distraction seemed to be working. He could continue on in secret helping the Fox Sisters. Now it was even more important that he help them find Richard because there was now a victim of the demon. If what they said was right, the demon was making Richard murder people to satisfy its needs. With enough spiritual power, the Fox Sisters could send the demon whence it came and then it would be all over. No evil threats would plague his mind and he wouldn't have to tell his wife anything because everything would be fine by then.

Then maybe one day when they were both frail and old, he would tell her a crazy thing he did when they were 'still young in mind', or even take it to his grave. Everything would be fine and dandy.

* * * * *

But Penelope knew something. He never swore at home. Ever. Only when something was really bothering him.

That, in her mind, was clue number three. The first clue was how he tried to make overly pleasant conversation as if something grave and dark was bothering him, and he wanted to ward off the shadows in his mind. The second clue was the way he rubbed his chin reminiscent of the many times he did the same thing when he was in a sticky situation with solving a case. And all of this started happening since the day Albert Reed came by and it became worse with the news this morning about Geoffrey Brews.

Penelope brushed her wavy brown hair from her face and watched him struggle to get some ideas down on paper with the fork again. Her 'husband with the too curious mind' had gotten himself involved. And it wasn't good, whatever it was. She was going to keep an eye on it.

As a tactic to get him to come clean, she leaned over and patted his hand. "Rough day with the book?" she said, and he nodded.

"Been a writer's block kind of day," he sighed. "Like a little devil's whispering in my ear saying I'm old and have no motivation."

It didn't work this time, but next time, she was sure she could coax him to talk about what he was up to. Instead of pressing further, Penelope gave him a reassuring smile. "You'll find it. How about dessert?"

* * *

In a little house in Tupper, Frank Barns finished his 'dessert', left the two women to clean up the mess, and headed outside for a quick smoke. Something moved in the hedges. Maybe an animal. Long-claws, he thought he saw.

"Bears, badgers, raccoons," he muttered, "wolves. Aooo," he gave a quiet howl and chuckled, lighting the match.

It went out.

"Fik!" he swore and lit it again, but it went out. The lantern overhead flickered and went out as well. Frank glared at it. "Are ya against me or what?" He shook his head and tried the match again. Third times the charm they said, but this one went out too. Frustrated, he tried all the matches, and they all went out. With an angry stream of curses, he kicked the side of the house and turned.