“Yes,” the cousin snarls. “You promised to steal it back, yet you’ve done fuck-all.”
I lower myself onto the floor and tune out the rest of their squabble. This conversation is likely about the grandmother’s peculiar broomstick.
It does not do a man good to dwell on the depravities of women. Even my dear wife is a degenerate.
My jaw tightens. I intend to punish Alienor for pleasuring herself with that crystal when she had a perfectly good and willing husband, begging to give her cock.
“Alright,” Alienor hisses.
“You’ll get it?” the cousin asks, her voice filled with hope.
“Tonight.”
“Now.
“But I’ve got to take care of the shop—”
“I’ll man the counter.” The cousin folds her arms across her chest.
Alienor’s shoulders sag. “Alright, but if Grandma is being so protective over it—”
“Over what?” asks a new voice.
I peer around the counter to find the grandmother stepping into the shop, holding the broomstick.
The cousin strides toward the older woman with her shoulders squared. My ears prick up. It looks like there will be a battle.
“Grandma,” the cousin snaps. “That broomstick belongs to me. Give it back or—”
“Alienor,” the grandmother says, her voice cold. “Have you been playing with the compost?”
I swing my gaze to my wife, whose skin turns the color of spoiled milk.
This is about to get interesting.
“Grandma?” Alienor asks, her voice wavering.
“Grandma!” The cousin stamps her foot.
The grandmother raises a palm. “Quiet, Agnes.” She turns to Alienor. “Answer my question.”
My wife places a hand over her mouth. “I turned the compost if that’s what you mean.” Her words are so muffled that even I struggle to hear. “When I lived at your house, you always used to make me aerate the heap.”
“I thought you had grown out of crawling in the dirt.”
Alienor frowns. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a huge hole in the pile. It looks like you burrowed into it to create a shelter.”
My jaw drops.
Last night, I watched Alienor from the trees. After burying her dead suitor and his severed head, she spent hours putting the dirt back into a neat pile.
She stumbles, her back hitting the counter.
If Alienor didn’t tamper with the compost heap, then a third party must have gone there to dig up the body.
Who?