GRYDER'S COVE TALES: HOWLERS

ol' Barnett James...

The road to Barnett's house was long, narrow, curvy and uphill all the way. The small gravel crunched under the tires, and gave way whenever she got too close to the edge, which caused the old road to sound like it was collapsing. This was her first gravel road, and it was genuinely making her nervous. About twenty minutes had passed since she started the trip into one of the highest parts of Cranton Ridge, and thus far she'd only passed two houses. Well, two that she could see, anyway.

Finally, the house she was looking for came into view. No siding, no paint, just a simple red brick foundation and boards grayed by weather and age and a slightly rusted tin roof. Rough-cut logs supported the section of roof that hung over the front porch, and the steps leading up to it were a little buckled and even split in places. Firewood was stacked neatly on the porch by the front door, and an ax hung right above it on two big nails. An older-looking Harley-Davidson motorcycle sat on the side porch, the rear wheel removed and propped up on the stack of firewood.

There was a shed made of the same graying wood just off to the left and about fifteen feet from the back of the house. With the exception of the bike, it was exactly the house one would expect to find out here, quite a bit different than the old farmhouse right outside Derby Cross and the light blue cottage she'd passed on the way up. Two stately weeping willows towered over the house from the back yard and swayed peacefully in the gentle breeze that had stirred up. The serenity of the scene almost made her forget why she'd come in the first place, but when she rounded the last curve in what passed for a driveway before pulling up to the house, the board slid out of the passenger seat and thumped against the floorboard. She recalled immediately.

Parking beside the old pickup truck at the edge of the yard, she shut the engine off and turned to retrieve it from the floorboard. For a long moment she stared at it in her lap, remembering that night at her house when it came to life, hearing that voice again in her head as her heart started to race. TAP TAP TAP!! against the window. Gail screamed. The board leapt from her lap onto her feet. She whipped her head around to see a deeply lined, ruggedly handsome face with icy blue eyes and a long salt-and-pepper colored beard and mustache. His hair was a little more than shoulder-length, curled at the bottom, dark brown streaked with gray, and topped with a wide-brimmed floppy brown leather hat. He was wearing an untucked long-sleeved denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up and faded blue jeans. After quickly collecting herself and getting her breathing back under control, she rolled down her window.

"Barnett James?" she asked, steadying her voice as he knelt by her door and smiled.

"Yes, ma'am. That'd be me. That'd make you Gail Stevens, right?" He looked down at the board at her feet. In a tone that sounded commanding yet still gentle, he pointed at it said, "C'mon inside, but I need to let ya know right outta the gate, you can leave that son of a bitch out here."

Once inside, Barnett offered Gail a seat on a worn but well-kept sofa. Half of the living room was walled almost entirely by shelves covered by stacks of old books, papers, even scrolls wrapped in various colors of ribbon and string, the exception being the wall with the fireplace. More books and a couple of eagle and wolf figurines graced the mantle there.

"I can see why people call you the closest thing Cranton Ridge has to a historian," said Gail, noticing that several shelves on one wall were dedicated to multiple volumes on Cranton Ridge, Corden County, and Derby Cross, "Some of these books look ancient," she said, running her fingers down the spine of a book with tattered edges bound in crinkled black leather. The gold print had faded, but she could still make out enough of it to know it said something about Aristotle.

"Easy, Miss, some o' that might rub off on ya," Barnett said with a smirk and a wink. She smiled in return and sat on the end of the sofa closest to the recliner Barnett was now seated in.