The Tea Party - A Novel of Horror Read Online Free Page A

give her what she wanted.
    Damn him, she thought; damn them both.
    Doug could solve everything if he’d only stop stalling.
    Yet, though she sensed in him the attraction and the need, he refused for some unknown reason to let himself go. The several dates they had had together had been fun—they dined, held hands, kissed lightly, and laughed—and the moment they seemed ready to make some sort of commitment, he had quickly but politely backed off into the role of a nice, dependable, stalwart good friend.
    She didn’t need a friend; she needed a lover, and a sharer, and a father for her children. With Clark, that was two out of three, but sharing was something she didn’t think he understood.
    So she sought calm on the drive home, a moment to reflect and gauge and hunt for a decision; unfortunately, once she had reached the sweeping highway curve, the BMW had choked and died, and after frantic attempts to restart it she had flooded the engine. The only thing she could do now was have a smoke and wait.
    She returned to the door and raided her purse for a cigarette, a lighter, then leaned back against the fender to watch the woods across the way. After initially complaining about the wilderness that surrounded her daily, she liked now the way the trees were packed close together, putting shadows in the air as well as on the ground. She was drawn to them. Whenever she had the chance, she walked among them for hours, once found herself talking to them, telling them about the office where she was treated like a niece instead of a junior partner, and how the competition with her colleagues was worse now that the firm was cutting back.
    Never kidding herself, she knew she had landed the job because of her sex; the remnants of the New Frontier had made her superiors nervous about feminist lawsuits. And she never bothered to explain that she wasn’t the type to take legal action just because she wasn’t hired.
    What made the current situation more frustrating was the admission of the firm’s founder that she was, without a doubt, one of the best attorneys he had.
    Of course, she could always hang out her shingle in Deerford. Everybody asked her advice anyway so she certainly wouldn’t lack for clients.
    It would be hard, no question about it. Litigation between farmers and shopkeepers wasn’t exactly the road to great or lasting fortune. On the other hand, she would be rid of the unrelenting pressure to perform, and the kids would have her home more often. They were old enough now to understand why she had to work so hard, and so late; but they were also starving for the sight of her, the touch of her, even the way she scolded them.
    A scolding much like the one she’d given only that afternoon.
    Keith had called (hastily claiming his sister had forced him into it) to ask if they could take their bikes over to Winterrest to explore after their household chores were done. She had said no. He had pouted. She told him that the estate was private property and no one, not even God, was allowed to walk there without permission.
    When he passed the obviously expected response on, she could hear Heather demanding justice for young adults and gee whiz all the other kids do it.
    “Well,” she said with impeccable parental logic, “you’re not all the other kids. Stay away. I don’t want you near it.”
    It was curious, actually. She had no idea why she felt that way. No one had lived there for years, and the older kids frequently crept over the low wall and did whatever kids did in the dark these days.
    But while Winterrest was for some a comforting declaration of Deerford’s existence, it unnerved her, and she could not say why.
    She glanced at her watch; it was a few minutes past four. Time to see if this heap would start moving.
    She flicked the cigarette across the road and had half turned to open the door when she felt rather than heard a subterranean rumbling. A light cloud of dust lifted from the tarmac, hovered and settled