Best Little Witch-House in Arkham. Mark McLaughlin

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      Kyle nodded. “And my grandmother’s brother. What would that be—a grand-uncle?” He reached over and took one of her expensive cigarettes. Ordinarily she’d have complained, but she decided to let it slide this time.

      “I don’t know why they’ve disappeared,” he continued. “They just go away and the thing is, nobody talks about it. It’s like everybody’s in on the secret except me.”

      “Why’s that?”

      “I don’t know. Probably because I’m not like them.”

      Melina shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Do you really think your family is off somewhere saying, ‘Let’s not tell Kyle the truth about the disappearances because he’s gay’? That doesn’t make any sense.”

      Kyle’s large eyes glistened with tears. “So what’s the truth?”

      Melina sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. Does it have to be something bad? Maybe it’s something really cool. Something wonderful and mysterious.”

      Kyle sat up. “Like what?”

      “Well, maybe you’re all royalty. Or aliens. Your guess is as good as mine.”

      Her friend grinned. “Maybe we all grow fingerwebs and swim off to an underwater palace.”

      “Whoa! Where did that come from?”

      “I have dreams like that all the time.” An oddly blissful look crept across his face. “I dream that my hands are green and there are webs between the fingers, and I’ve swimming past all these beautiful fish and eels to this big palace, but it’s really more of a coral reef. And there are all these green and yellow people waving to me, and I know they all love me. I had that dream again just last night.”

      Melina looked at her friend’s hands. The fingers were long and slender—and between them, there did seem to be a little extra skin. Maybe a fourth of an inch. Not much. Certainly nothing freaky.

      But when she looked up into his face, it suddenly dawned on her that yeah, she could see a touch of his uncle Carl in his face. That forlorn, toadlike quality. But in Kyle’s case, it was more froglike.

      Maybe it was just as well that this frog would never be her prince.

      * * * *

      The storm was over by two-thirty, but the skies still looked terrible. All the day’s clients had called to cancel, so Midge told everyone to go home.

      Melina had to tell Kyle about her appointment with the old women that evening. It would be best if somebody knew her whereabouts, in case something weird happened. Kyle said, “We have the rest of the afternoon to kill. Why don’t we drive around Cherrywood Lane? Check out the neighborhood before your big gig tonight.”

      “That’s in the rich part of town, isn’t it?”

      “You bet. So we’d better take my car. It’s nicer,” he said. “Besides, if we took your car, they might recognize it when you came by later and they’d know you’d been snooping around in their neck of the woods.”

      “Good idea you’ve got there.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “First time for everything, I guess.”

      “Clever! I should just let those two old witches eat you.”

      Twenty minutes, Kyle was steering his car onto Cherrywood Lane, which led up a hill overlooking the town. This part of Innsmouth was old and moneyed, and all the houses had winding driveways and expansive, well-groomed lawns. “You’d better scoot down in your seat,” Kyle said, “so they can’t see you.”

      605 was certainly the most impressive house on the street. It was a huge, sprawling structure, three stories high and covered with ivy. “Good God,” Kyle said. “Yeah, I guess they can afford thousand-dollar beauty treatments. That’s the old Marsh place. I used to have a boyfriend who lived on this street. He showed me who lived where.”

      “Marsh?” The Marsh family was one of the most prestigious in Innsmouth. “Kiwi said Mrs. Hamogeorgakis came here to live with relatives. The Marshes aren’t Greek.”

      “Maybe they’re related by marriage somehow.”

      Melina pointed. “What’s behind that big wall?”

      Kyle looked in that direction. A short distance behind the house was a high wall made partly of large, pale stones and partly of red bricks. “Well, we’re right on the ocean, but we had to drive up this hill a ways…Must be a cliff. Let’s turn around.”

      A minute later, they were heading back toward downtown Innsmouth. At the base of the hill, Kyle took a side road to a small seaside recreational area, with picnic benches and a white-painted metal pavilion.

      Kyle got out of the car, so Melina did, too. He nodded toward the sun-bleached cliff to their left. “There’s what’s on the other side of that wall.”

      She looked up. “Yeah, you can see a little bit of it from here. And some of their roof.” At the base of the cliff were rocks and boulders, strewn with green crap. Probably seaweed or moss. “So, Sherlock. What have we learned?”

      “Well, Mrs. Hamogeorgakis and her pal live in the old Marsh estate.” Kyle looked up toward the house. “They want you to go there late at night. And, they have a big cliff a little ways outside their back door.”

      “Do you think I’m in danger? Should I tell them to get lost?”

      “What, and lose out on the chance to make a thousand bucks?” Kyle thought for a moment. “Take your cell phone with you tonight. I’ll be parked down here with my phone. Call me if you think you’re in trouble and I’ll come help.”

      “Thank you, Kyle,” Melina said. “I’m so lucky to have you for a friend.”

      He shrugged and smiled. “Hey, if those two old harpies kill you, I won’t have anyone to mooch fancy cigarettes off of.”

      * * * *

      That evening, she parked in the driveway near the front steps of 605 Cherrywood Lane, carried a large, red plastic make-up case up to the door and knocked.

      A plump, middle-aged man with a jowly face answered the door. “Come inside. You are expected.” He picked up her case. “Let me carry that for you.”

      “Great. Thanks.”

      As she followed the man down a hallway, she noticed something odd about him. Though he had a big belly, his legs were very thin, and his shuffling gait was slightly jerky, as though simply walking was a strain for him. “So what’s your name?” she said.

      The man turned his head to reply. “Tyler.”

      “Is that your first name or last?”

      This time he didn’t turn his head at all. “Tyler Marsh,” he said gruffly.

      Melina decided the man wasn’t in the mood to talk, so she simply followed. At least someone named Marsh still lived in the house, though he seemed to be acting more like СКАЧАТЬ