Free The Knights of the Cornerstone by James P. Blaylock Page A

don’t know the woman. Whose aunt is she?”
    He found himself at a complete loss. “I seem to remember stories about an aunt Iris. Apparently she was a spiritualist …?”
    “A spiritualist? Not our branch of the family. We don’t hold with that.”
    “Of course not,” he said. “I didn’t mean to imply …” He let the thought trail away. “Did you feel that quake last night?” he asked. “Round about ten?”
    “No,” she said. She looked at him curiously, and he had the uncanny notion that she had figured him out somehow—perceived the gears going around inside his soul. “Were you out to the Temple last night?” she asked.
    “On the island? Why do you ask?”
    “No reason. The ground gets shaky out there is all. Maybe it’s the river pushing on it all the time. We all get shaky with the river pushing on us.” She went back to watching the water now, and Calvin kept his mouth shut, having avoided the outright lie.
    A pontoon boat appeared on the river, and he watched it sweep past, several people sitting on board. One of them waved, and Calvin waved back. “Another cup of coffee?” he asked her.
    “I’m already afloat,” she said.
    He smiled at the idea. “I’m going to grab a second cup,” he said. He went inside and was halfway through the den, heading back into the kitchen, when the telephone rang. He looked back to see if his aunt was going to get up, but shesat there placidly, either not hearing it or not caring, and after the third ring he shouted, “I’ve got it!” and picked up the wall phone receiver over the counter. “Lymon residence,” he said.
    There was a silence long enough to become slightly ominous, and then a familiar but flat-sounding voice said, “Identify yourself,” which struck him as a strange sort of greeting.
    “Warren?” he asked, realizing it was Cousin Hosmer. “It’s Cal. Cal Bryson.”
    “Where’s Lymon?”
    “Out. I don’t know where. He made coffee and …”
    “Coffee? What are you talking about?”
    “About … coffee. He brewed some up before he left, so I guess he wasn’t in any kind of hurry. Maybe he wanted to make the first ferry into town.”
    “When’s he coming back?”
    “I don’t have any idea. Let me ask Nettie what she knows. Hold on.”
    He went out through the den again. “Warren Hosmer’s on the phone,” Calvin said to her through the screen door. “He wants to know when Uncle Lymon’s getting back.”
    “He’ll be back,” she said. “He always is.”
    “Do we have an ETA? Warren seems anxious to talk to him.”
    “Tell him it’ll happen in the fullness of time. Hosmer’s always in a tearing hurry. We were out in Grand Junction once, up on the Monument, and there was a thunderstorm coming up. Well, Hosmer was there with the Hyink crowd from Iowa and the Streffs and their tribe. We were setting out a picnic, and I said to Hosmer—”
    “Hold on one second. I’ll be right back.” He returnedto the kitchen and picked up the phone. “She doesn’t know either. Should I have him call you?”
    “Not on this phone. Did you get the item out there safe? No incidents?”
    “Yes to the safe part. Or at least I think so. But no to the no-incidents part. There was a little trouble at the store when I stopped to buy grape soda.”
    “What kind of trouble?”
    “Well, there was this character who told me his name was Woolsworth, although apparently he’s actually a local named Bob Postum who used to go by the name King Baldwin, so I guess it doesn’t really matter what his name is now. He drives a green pickup truck with a bad muffler, and—”
    “Get to the point. I don’t give a damn about the man’s muffler.”
    “The point is this Postum character apparently stole the box out of the trunk when I was inside buying the soda. Then Shirley—”
    “Not over the telephone.”
    “Pardon me?”
    “Name no names, my friend. Telephone’s too public, especially those New Cyprus phones. There’s something for