The Mother Tongue
Chapter One
Monday
Alby Truitt didn't relish the idea of eating dinner at Ella Alden's house at the east end of Statlers Cross. For starters, the place was too full of dead things - dead fish, dead crows, dead snakes - all God's smaller creatures caught and made arty to fill in the white spaces of the Alden clan's peculiar enclave. It was also, Alby knew, too full of more ambiguous deaths, both of others and himself, but that was a thought he pushed to the back of his mind as he trundled his truck over the railroad tracks and up Ella's gravel drive. No, it was neither taxidermy nor memories that pissed him off: Ella Alden's house disturbed him because it was too damn full of Ella Alden.
The truck's headlights settled on a stretch of barbed wire fence as he pulled to a stop. As he stepped into the cool evening air, a pecan branch, overladen and much too long for health, slapped his face, and the bitter smell of pecan grime filled his nostrils. He wiped his face and came away with a smear of blood on his knuckle. Crap. The only reason he had agreed to come tonight was because Ella's granddaughter, Gale, had issued the invitation, and ... read full excerpt from: The Mother Tongue ebook
