Blood Fugue Read Online Free Page A

expect you back here in a week at the outside.’
    There was silence around the table. Maria’s expression tightened. What he’d taken for excitement was, in her case at least, trepidation.
    ‘Now, up by Trapper’s Trail, there’s a spring for collecting fresh water.’
    ‘We will work it out, Mr Kerrigan.’
    ‘Okay, sure, but have you got enough food such a long —’
    ‘We have everything we need.’
    The water had been boiling on the gas stove for some time and the steam was beginning to fog up the kitchen. As Kerrigan turned to remove the kettle, Buster, his Siamese cat, leapt on the map for a closer look at the latest batch of strangers. The Jimenez family all jumped at the same time as Buster skidded to a halt at the centre of the stones. Mr. Jimenez snatched up his map and backed away.
    ‘Yeesh, he won’t hurt you,’ said Kerrigan, ‘Will you, Buster? You like visitors, right?’
    Buster perused the four faces above him. He padded towards Carla and stared at her with his paws right on the edge of the table. She reached out her hand as if she thought he’d bite her. Buster stretched towards her. She touched her fingers to the top of his head, giving him a little scratch before pulling away. He waited for her to do it again and when she did they were friends.
    My choice too, buddy.
    Kerrigan finished making the tea and handed the mugs around. They looked uncomfortable, unsure what to do.
    ‘Here, sit down.’
    He gestured to the four rickety chairs around the table, all damaged by him leaning back on two legs and stressing the joints. He pulled up a stool and, with the map no longer the focus of the discussion, silence was king once more.
    ‘I can’t help wondering why you’re going all the way out to this trail. I mean, what are you hoping to find there? Treasure?’
    He laughed but no one else did.
    ‘We have come to find the last resting place of my grandfather, Raul Rodrigo Jimenez,’ said Mr. Jimenez.
    Kerrigan was intrigued.
    ‘He came here too?’
    ‘He lived in this place.’
    Kerrigan flicked his gaze across all their faces.
    ‘In Hobson’s Valley?’
    ‘In this house.’
    Kerrigan realised his mouth was open. He shut it.
    ‘You’re kidding.’
    José Jimenez shook his head. The others were quiet, solemn. Buster jumped from the table onto Kerrigan’s lap and he stroked his fur as he thought about what this piece of information implied. The notion that their ancestor had lived in this house, his house, stabbed at his root. He’d been undercut, preceded. Negated. The strength of his reaction frightened him.
    ‘It is okay, Mr Kerrigan,’ said Mr. Jimenez, ‘we are not here to evict you. We merely wish to take my grandfather’s bones and return them to the land of his birth. If we cannot find them then we are here to pay our respects and see the land where he made his life. We are fulfilling his wishes, as stated in his will.’
    ‘But why now? Why after so much time has passed? Couldn’t he have arranged to have his body returned to Mexico for burial at the time of his death?’
    ‘My grandfather was from Spain, Mr Kerrigan, as are we.’
    Kerrigan blushed.
    ‘God, that was stupid of me. I’m sorry.’
    ‘No matter.’
    Carla and Luis made a show of studying the map. Their parents sipped his tea.
    ‘I ask too many questions,’ he said.
    ‘No. I am glad to speak of it,’ said Mr. Jimenez, ‘and you were good enough to help us before you asked your questions.’
    He placed the leather map case on the table.
    ‘This was left to me in his will. We received it two months ago by mail with a letter from Symmons and Sons, a law firm in Boise, and a copy of the will. They were instructed to keep the map in a safe deposit box before passing it to a Jimenez at a time specified by my grandfather. I am the only Jimenez left. In the will, he asked that his remains be brought home to San Sebastian to be cremated and scattered in the Pyrenees, the beautiful mountain range of our region