The Guardian Stones by Eric Reed

them last time.”
    â€œFor that matter, it could be deserters,” said someone else.
    Tinkers and tramps then came under suspicion, as they always did.
    Green broke into the conversation as it wandered off the path into the forest. “I have in mind the sort of strangers who aren’t usually seen in Shropshire.”
    Edwin wasn’t certain if Green was looking at Grace again or at him. “You surely don’t consider me a dangerous stranger, do you, Constable?”
    â€œYou claim to be here studying folklore—”
    Grace’s eyes narrowed. “And he is, Tom. What’s the matter with you?”
    Green paused and licked his lips. “What I was saying, Grace, is that he claims to be here studying the stones despite the fact there’s a war on.”
    â€œI know you need to consider every possibility,” Edwin said, trying to damp down flaring tempers. “I can easily prove I’m a former professor of history from the University of Rochester. I’m afraid I can’t prove I am not a pervert. Perhaps you can prove that you are one, but it is exceedingly difficult to prove a negative.”
    Green stared at him but said nothing.
    â€œYou’ve made some good points.” Edwin feared he’d gone too far. “We can’t be certain who’s wandering around the countryside right now and there’s plenty of monsters in the world. I’m sure you’ve heard of Albert Fish. Who can say how many children he killed? He claimed it was a hundred. And though it was twenty years ago, some of you must recall the Abertillery murders. Two young girls killed by a madman.”
    â€œI’m surprised you heard of that in America,” Green replied. “But then, you are a professor.”
    Edwin ignored the sarcasm. “My wife and I were Anglophiles. We planned to move over here after my retirement.”
    â€œI hope you bloody well like it,” snapped Meg Gowdy. “And the murderer of those girls lived in the town, didn’t he? He was well liked. They brought him up for one murder, acquitted him, and right away he killed again. Why, our pervert might very well be sitting here in this room, a well-respected resident of Noddweir.” She snickered and blew out a plume of smoke.
    Duncan Gowdy stared daggers at his wife from across the room.
    â€œWe don’t need to start suspecting our neighbors, Meg,” Reverend Wilson said quietly.
    â€œOf course a man of your profession might naturally be inclined to think the best of people,” Green replied. “Those of us on the front lines need to be suspicious of everyone.”
    â€œThe Abertillery madman wasn’t even a man,” Emily Miller blurted. “He was only sixteen. A child. Just like them Finch boys. Whoever’s responsible for whatever happened to Issy doesn’t have to be a man. Evil grows up fast.” Her eyes were red and watery and her voice trembled.
    â€œEvil’s what it is,” piped up a husky, middle-aged woman Edwin didn’t recognize. Her hair was wrapped up turban-fashion in a faded scarf. “Evil has come upon us!”
    â€œHush, Polly” said Susannah Radbone, swiveling in her chair to face the speaker.
    â€œDon’t be telling me what to do, Susannah Radbone. All yer learning’s not left room for a lick of common sense in that stubbly gray head of yours!” the other retorted.
    Grace, who had remained silent, turned to the woman. “You’ve been talking to Martha too much, Polly. My grandma’s a dear but she don’t always know what she’s saying.” She whispered to Edwin. “She’s a little slow, is our Polly.”
    Edwin felt her lips brush his earlobe. As she looked away he could swear she gave Constable Green a mocking smile.
    â€œYou need to listen to yer grandma, young lady,” Polly shot back. “She’ll tell you straight. It’s them stones. They’re evil.