Blue Stew (Second Edition) Read Online Free Page B

of this levelheaded question. At that moment he was struggling to generate levelheaded thinking of his own.
    “If you had seen it you’d understand.” The color left Walter’s face. “Just be glad you didn’t see it.”
    “. . . Well, the police will sort all that out, I guess,” said Nigel, plainly unconvinced.
    Henry scratched his thin black beard. “So . . . I guess, now we just wait ?”
    Jamie Astley walked into the kitchen as Walter said, “No. I’m gonna piss, then me and you are gonna head outside and follow the river downstream—try to fish out the other body.”
    “You just got into a serious accident, Walter,” said Nigel. “You really think you should go out trudging through the forest at night, in a severe rainstorm like this?”
    “If I might save someone’s life, sure.”
    “What about tonight?” piped in Jamie, trying to sound assertive, but failing and sounding even more meager for the effort. “We have things to talk about. Important things.”
    “ Obviously that’s not going to happen anymore,” Nigel spoke curtly. “You can tell everyone to leave. They can get their food out of the fridge.”
    A flash of protest came to Jamie’s eyes, faltered, and then she just looked hurt. She didn’t say a word as she turned and retreated back down the hallway.
    Walter, in truth, felt bad for her, but he didn’t express anything to this effect. Instead, he taunted Nigel on his way to the bathroom, “ Someone’s not getting any tonight . . .”
    In the bathroom, Walter couldn’t avoid catching sight of himself in the awkward full-sized mirror beside to the toilet.
    Walter Boyd could be a good-looking fellow if he wanted to be. He had dirty-blonde hair that, when washed and unburdened by grease, wove lightly along his forehead like the pretty-boys on cheesy TV dramas. His face, when shaved smooth, could appear strong and assertive, symmetrical as most of it was—except for his left ear, which he was sure was lower than his right. Unfortunately, his hair became greasy if not washed daily, and would clump and form to his skull in an unpleasant way, and his beard grew in in wiry patches, so when he neglected to shave, instead of making him appear rugged—like Henry told everyone his did—his facial hair just made him appear ragged.
    It should come as no surprised that faltering personal hygiene coincided with Walter’s increasing substance abuse, and more and more of late he looked like trailer-trash.
    That night he had actually tried to make himself presentable, yet the man that stared back at Walter through the mirror, as he peed into the toilet, looked like absolute hell.
    When he came back out into the kitchen, Walter found that Henry had already thrown on his dirty cardigan jacket that he usually wore dirt-biking and had located a set of flashlights.
    “Okay, Nigel you talk to the cops when they show up. Tell them where we are. I’ll try to call if we find the body.” Walter took one of the flashlights.
    “Sure. Just, don’t go crazy out there. I’m sure they will want to talk to you about everything , Walter,” said Nigel.
    Walter agreed shortly, and then he and Henry went out the back door and took an infrequently-used trail down to the river.
     
    •   •   •
     
    “Well, it’s no hunting for Horcruxes,” said Walter, his voice barely rising over the loud rushing of the river.
    “Wow,” said Henry Potter, running his flashlight along the frothy buildup of sticks along the high river bank. “Just wow .”
    Walter smiled as he hobbled along beside Henry.
    They had been trudging through the woods for ten minutes. The rain had subsided and was now less apocalyptic.
    Walter’s comment had been a successful attempt to crack the uneasy tension. He had already chosen not to share with Henry his fear that a psycho-killer was on the loose that night. He felt that the basic nature of what they were doing was creepy enough already. Seeing more of the river, a roaring