Read Online A Crossworder's Delight by Nero Blanc - Free Book Online Page A

caravan.… It’s never too late to quit, you know?”
    â€œYeah, yeah, thank you for the advice Doctor Jones. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.… And what’s with you and the rock salt? Maintenance guys at your spiffy condo on strike?”
    â€œNo. I was with this new lady-friend of mine last night. She just bought a house near yours, Rosco.… Anyway, you guys know how it is; next thing you know they’ve got you roped into doing the domestic thing.”
    Lever again raised his hands. “Please, spare us the gory details of your love life, Don Juan.”
    Abe glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d sure like to hang around and gab, but I’ve got to scoot.” He poked Al in the belly and winked. “See, we weren’t quite finished up with what we got started last night, if you know what I mean.”
    He stepped around the others, paid for his rock salt, and grabbed a sack on his way out the door.
    â€œWho knew the way to a woman’s heart was through a sack of salt?” Stanley mused. “Welcome to Massachusetts, I guess.”
    â€œI suspect that my wife won’t be moved to any lustful fantasies when she sees me walk in with the stuff.”
    â€œOne never knows, Al. Maybe you should buy two sacks; make an evening of it,” Stanley chortled. “Not to change the subject, but that’s a real shame about the poem being stolen. Martha phoned me about it a little while ago. Any leads, Rosco?”
    Rosco shook his head. “Not a one.”
    â€œWell, old man Marz couldn’t have paid too much for it back in the twenties, or whenever the heck it was,” Stan continued. “At least, that’s what my dad said. Not that it wasn’t a really nice addition to the place—whatever the price.”
    â€œSo your father knew the family?” Rosco asked.
    â€œOh, yeah, the old man and his son, Mike, too. They were all members of the same VFW post. It was old Milton who bought that poem and decided to change the name of the inn. He died in the late thirties, if I remember correctly. A genuine kook, according to my dad.… Kept the place just like it was when he bought it, insisted folks wanted authenticity in a historic building: no electricity, only candles and oil or gas lamps, gas stoves, working fireplaces. It wasn’t wired for juice until Mike—that’s the twins’ father—took over the business. And then when Pearl Harbor was bombed, and he enlisted in the Army and left his wife to run the show. The twins must have been pretty young then. Probably wasn’t easy on her, either, keeping the old place going with two little kids and all. Plus worrying about the hubby.”
    â€œUh … huh,” Lever nodded in thought as he reached for a cigarette.
    â€œSorry, Al, can’t smoke in here.”
    â€œCome on, it’s a hardware store, Stan. Smoking’s part of the … tradition. Mano-a-mano. Cigars. Pipes—”
    â€œNot in the twenty-first century, it isn’t.”
    Al begrudgingly slipped his Camels back into his shirt and Rosco said, “The twins’ father died pretty soon after returning from the war, didn’t he?”
    â€œYep. Something tells me it was around 1948, or maybe 1949? Just before I arrived on the scene, anyway.… It was a hunting accident; Mike was accidentally shot by another hunter. I remember my dad saying what a shock the whole thing was for the community.” Stan shook his head, reminiscing. “Newcastle was a smaller place back then; everybody cared about everyone else.…” Then Stanley Hatch’s expression changed, turning into a quiet, reflective smile. “Another thing my dad told me was that the guys at the post loved to tease Mike Marz about screwing old Henry Wadsworth Longfellow to the parlor wall—like someone was going to steal him.… Apparently, Mike didn’t appreciate all the