Riverwatch

Chapter Ten - A Death in the Night

"Bring me another piece of that cake, would ya, honey?"

In the kitchen, Martha Cummings looked out through the interior window that connected to the next room. Her husband George was seated in his favorite recliner in front of the television. Her gaze was full of affection as she took in his slightly overweight body and the little round bald-spot on the top of his head. She shook her head in mock derision at his request, but happily complied with it nonetheless.

Martha was in her late sixties and quite happy with her lot in life. Time had been good to her. A large, buxom woman, not particularly pretty by today's standards, but filled with an inordinate amount of kindness, she had married her present husband, after two unsuccessful marriages, at the age of thirty-five. She had a nice home, an affectionate husband, and enough money to keep the two of them happy for the rest of their lives. That was more than most could say, and for that she was thankful.

Of course, there were her cats, too.

Martha's pride and joy, the cats had proven to be an acceptable substitute for her inability to have children. She lavished them with all the care and love and attention she might have given her own children. They were a constant nuisance to her husband, although he was sweetly tolerant for her sake. The felines had free roam of the house. She had lost track of how many of them there actually were, having stopped counting somewhere after sixteen. Originally there had been only five, each with a separate name, but before long she'd given up trying to keep them all straight, referring to them all now simply as Kitty. They didn't seem to mind and it was much easier that way.

She brought the cake to her husband, along with a tall glass of milk. "Here you are, dear," she said, giving him a quick peck on his bald spot. He flustered a little at that, being self-conscious about the loss of his hair, but his eyes let her know that it was all right.

Back in the kitchen she decided to bake an apple pie and was deep into the process when George announced he was going up to bed.

"Are you going to stay down here all night or will you be joining me?" he asked, a suggestive leer on his face.

She blushed. Despite their advanced age, the two of them enjoyed a good grope in the dark more than once a week, as if they were a couple of hormone-crazed teenagers. It didn't matter that nine times out of ten the machinery didn't work. It was the desire that counted, and lately it seemed to be increasing. It made her feel wickedly sinful to know that her husband still wanted her after all these years, and that alone was worth all the trouble.

She leered back at him. "I'll be up in just a few minutes. If you're still awake when I get there, old timer, maybe we can find something to keep us awake awhile longer." She waved her hands at him. "Now shoo and let me finish or I'll just sleep on the couch for the night and you won't get anything."

George gave her a quick kiss and disappeared up the stairs in a hurry, muttering to himself about domineering women as he went. Martha turned back to her baking.

Her pace was quicker now than it had been a few moments before.

Half an hour later, just as she was placing the pie into the refrigerator, where it would stay until she had a chance to slip it into the oven in the morning, she heard a long, thin wail coming from the front yard.

Martha stopped in mid-motion, bent over in front of the open refrigerator door, pie in hand, her head cocked to one side.

The house around her was silent, the only sound the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room.

After a few moments of intent listening, she decided the noise had only been in her mind. A product of the late hour and her restless imagination.