Read Online Summoned by Anne M. Pillsworth - Free Book Online Page A

Great-Grandfather Henry had been deranged by their work? Well, as soon as Helen had learned the word eccentric, she’d applied it to her uncle. Had he been more than eccentric? What about Henry? There was that ridiculous Dunwich story Lovecraft had written, thinly disguising Henry Arkwright as “Dr. Armitage.” In public Henry had insisted nothing supernatural had happened in Dunwich—bootleggers had haunted the village, not monsters from beyond. But had Henry been less skeptical in private, in his papers?
    Great. Her new job and the crumbling house weren’t enough to worry about. Let’s add mysterious documents that might disclose a family weakness to crack and start believing in the craziest mythology on record. Be fair, though. Marvell hadn’t said anything about a family weakness. Helen had concocted that herself. Which maybe supported the family weakness idea?
    She needed a vacation, at least a mini-one. Today, instead of going straight to the library, she’d go to Tumblebee’s Café and dive to the bottom of a large vanilla latte. She could sit outside to answer Marvell’s letter, tell him she wasn’t angry about the withheld papers, only confused. That was close enough to the truth. And to finish the mini-vacation, she could stop in the pharmacy across the street, the one with all the homemade nostrums and the old-fashioned soda fountain. One of Mr. Geldman’s cherry colas would be just the thing to power her afternoon reading.
    A Ford Econoline van pulled off West Street into College. Its battered white side bore the legend J-J REMODELING , but she could see Jeremy Wyndham in the passenger seat. Helen hoisted her backpack and went down the steps to meet him.
    Jeremy introduced her to the driver, a compact man with grizzled ponytail and beard: Joe Jackman Douglass, carpenter. “Joe-Jack,” the carpenter said, before throwing open the van doors and hauling out lumber.
    “That’s for frames to transport the windows in,” Jeremy said.
    “Sounds good.” Would the day ever come when she wouldn’t be standing on the curb planning her escape from a work crew? “You won’t need me, will you?”
    “No, not if you’ve left the doors open.”
    “They’re open. You have my cell number?”
    Jeremy checked his cell. “Right here.”
    A lanky boy, fifteen, sixteen, jumped out of the van at the rear end of a stack of plywood. He and Joe-Jack hustled the stack up to the entry porch. Then the boy bounded back down. He had sandy-brown hair, straight, even wispy, very unlike Jeremy’s black waves. But their identical blue-gray eyes and long, straight noses were a giveaway.
    “Ms. Arkwright,” Jeremy said. “This is my son, Sean.”
    She took the boy’s oversized hand. The calluses on its palm told her that this plywood hadn’t been the first he’d wrangled. “Hello, Sean.”
    “Hey, Ms. Arkwright. Wow, you’re in charge of the Archives at MU? You must be like a genius.”
    “Sean,” Jeremy said sharply.
    But the boy’s tone was ingenuous, not insulting. Helen didn’t even break into her usual blush. “Actually, I’m not in charge,” she said. “I’m Assistant Archivist.”
    “That’s still cool. I wish—”
    A yell from Joe-Jack cut Sean short. He sprinted up the steps, his wish unconfided.
    Jeremy watched him go, shaking his head. “Sorry about that.”
    “Nothing to be sorry about.”
    Joe-Jack now yelled for Jeremy, who paused only long enough to give her an absent smile before obeying the imperative call.
    Helen headed for the university gates.
    Halfway across the sun-struck green, she heard running footsteps behind her. Her pursuer was Sean Wyndham. Could something have gone wrong already?
    Sean caught her up and skidded to a stop. “You walk fast,” he gasped.
    “And you run fast. What’s up? Need something at the house?”
    “No.” Sean took a few seconds to recover his breath. “I just wondered if I could ask you a question.”
    Was he flushed with more than exertion?