The Blood Red Indian Summer by David Handler Page A

creeps cut a hole in the fence and try to sneak onto his property? You bet.
    As they neared the clearing at the edge of the woods Mitch could see lights in the windows of the old Joshua mansion. And floodlights were on out back. Callie was stretched out in a lawn chair on the patio. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t seem to notice their arrival.
    But Luanne and Lila sure did. The two of them rushed to the kitchen door, utterly distraught.
    “Winnie, what happened to your mouth?” Lila cried out.
    “He got punched,” Mitch informed them.
    “Who would do such a rotten thing?” Luanne demanded.
    “One of your new neighbors took offense at his behavior.”
    “But Winnie’s not well,” Lila protested.
    “He understands that now. It’s all been ironed out.”
    Lila examined Winston’s bloodied face, clucking over him. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up.” She took him by the hand and led him upstairs.
    Luanne remained with Mitch in the kitchen, which still smelled nasty even though he’d unclogged that drain. Some form of rodent must have died in a cupboard somewhere. The trick would be finding it. Sounded like a job custom made for cousin Clarence.
    “What did Winnie do?” Luanne demanded, hands on her hips.
    “Took a bite out of a young lady’s behind. Or tried to.”
    “Dear, dear. Mitch, I’m so sorry we had to drag you out into the night this way.”
    “No problem. That’s what neighbors are for. Speaking of which, your new neighbors will be paying you a visit tomorrow.”
    “You mean that football star?”
    “His mother and his cousin Clarence. They’d like to meet you. And Clarence is real sorry about what happened.”
    “Well, isn’t that sweet of them. It will be nice to have callers. And now, if you’ll please excuse me, I’d better go help Lila.”
    “Luanne, have you seen Winston with a pair of wire cutters recently?”
    She stared at him blankly. “Did you say wire cutters?”
    “I did. Do you own a pair? I seem to have misplaced mine.”
    “The toolbox is out in the mudroom. Help yourself,” Luanne said, starting down the hallway toward the stairs.
    The mudroom was off the kitchen. Mitch found a rusty toolbox on a shelf next to assorted mud-caked winter boots. It contained the usual household tools—including a pair of wire cutters. They were right on top, in fact. He stared at them before he closed the toolbox and went back out onto the patio.
    “Hey,” he called to Callie.
    “Hey,” she responded, stretched out there in a baggy T-shirt and jeans.
    He sank gingerly into an ancient director’s chair, positive it would give way under him. But it held. “I test drove a new Silverado today.”
    “I didn’t know you were shopping for a truck.”
    “I’m not.”
    Her big gray eyes searched his face carefully. “What did you find out?”
    “That June sucks as a car salesman.”
    “He hates it, Mitch. And his dad bullies him nonstop. That’s why he’s absolutely determined to set sail for the Keys as soon as humanly possible. Do you think I should go along or not?”
    “Callie, I can’t answer that one for you. I do think June will be happier if he strikes out on his own. He’s stewing in his own juices right now.” Not to mention Bonita’s. “But you two have only been together for a couple of months. And you’ve dreamt about coming to the Dorset Academy for years. You’re living out your dream here. You’ll be giving that up if you go away with him.”
    “I know that.” She sighed. “But I want to be with him. I can’t imagine not being with him. And what’s more important than love? It’s the only thing that really lasts, isn’t it?”
    Mitch didn’t go anywhere near that. He’d loved and lost Maisie to ovarian cancer. Loved and lost Des to her ex-husband Brandon. True, he did have Des back now. But for how long? Love didn’t last. Nothing lasted. All you could truly count on was the moment that you were living in right now. “Christmas