At Witt's End Read Free Page A

her life. Can you imagine what losing the mortuary would do to her?” Sadie turned her ear toward the door as she heard footsteps plink across the wooden porch.
    Dread filled Sadie. She glanced through the screen door just in time to see the man in the black suit disappear into the woods.
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    Worry and dread caused the hairs on Aanders’ neck to tingle as he stared at the basement door. A mix of curiosity and anticipation had him on the verge of ripping the door off the hinges and bounding down the stairs, but he knew he couldn't. He had made a promise to his mother and was trying desperately to keep it.
    Think of something else, he thought clenching his fists. Anything else. Aanders’ foot tapped rapidly against the stool's leg as he leaned on the kitchen counter. Maybe if he let the hateful words the new kid had shouted at him seep back into his mind, it would shove aside his present predicament. Aanders had looked forward to meeting the new guest at the resort, but when he finally did, all the kid did was tease him about living in a mortuary.
    Aanders had learned to benefit from his unique surroundings. Not every kid lived in a mortuary. Not every kid was as brave as they pretended. Not every kid dared touch a dead body. For those brave enough to touch the lifeless flesh, Aanders charged a dollar. After all, hadn't his mother encouraged him to be enterprising?
    A burst of sizzling grease signaled supper would soon be ready. Eleven-year-old Aanders watched his mother flip three pieces of chicken in the frying pan. He twiddled the salt shaker between his fingers until it tipped over. Sneaking a look at his mother he covered the salt with his hand, edged it off the counter and watched it sprinkle onto the floor. His blond bangs caught on his eyelashes, twitching when he blinked.
    "I thought you'd feel better if I cooked your favorite meal,” Nan said, reaching to brush the hair from her son's face.
    Aanders appreciated that his mother wanted to lessen his sorrow, but food didn't appeal to him. If he admitted he wasn't hungry, he'd hurt her feelings. She'd worry. She already had enough on her mind without upsetting her more.
    His stomach rolled a queasy warning as his gaze fell on the basement door. A whining dog wasn't making the situation any easier. Belly had parked his bulk in front of the basement door and insisted on being given access to the lower level.
    "I don't know why you let that dog in here again,” Nan said. “You know I've asked you not to do that."
    "I didn't. He must have slipped in under the hearse door. I've seen him do it before."
    Even though Belly's physique resembled a cement truck, he had a weasel's knack at sneaking into the mortuary apartment. The dog must have slipped in when he helped his mother transfer the heavy body bags from the hearse. Belly no longer startled Aanders when he appeared out of nowhere. At least not like his father startled him when he showed up uninvited. Belly's visits were welcomed. Not his father's.
    Nan coaxed Belly away from the door with her foot. “After you finish eating, take him back to Sadie's cabin. He's going to ruin the paint on that door.” Sidestepping the dog she added, “This is the second time I've found him clawing on the basement door. I don't know what's gotten into him. Usually he just sleeps in front of the fridge."
    Belly's mission in life was to consume food. Lots of food. When not occupied with his vocation, Belly sought the luxury of a good snooze. Aanders often woke with Belly occupying more than half his bed and hogging the pillow. The defining property line between the resort and mortuary meant nothing to Belly.
    Belly's heritage was a mystery. He had long legs, a stubby nose, a rotund body covered in brown spots, and a cropped-off tail with four elongated hairs growing out of a bald portion of its tip. When Belly wagged his tail, the black hairs flapped in the breeze adding to the dog's odd appearance.