At the Water's Edge Read Online Free PDF Page B

outright panic. It was a haze of pale orange, banging against the sides of its cage and sending out bursts of tiny, downy feathers.
    Ellis and I looked at each other, aghast.
    â€œOh, really?” my mother-in-law said calmly. “Then what, exactly, was she, dear?”
    The Colonel moved his mouth as though to answer, but nothing came out.
    â€œIt’s all right. I always suspected. I saw the way you used to look at her,” my mother-in-law continued. Her eyes burned brightly with the indignity of it all. “At least you weren’t foolish enough to run off with her.”
    I was almost compelled to defend the Colonel, to point out that
everybody
had looked at my mother that way—they couldn’t help themselves—but knew better than to open my mouth.
    My mother-in-law turned suddenly to Ellis.
    â€œAnd
you
—I warned you. As embarrassing as it was, I probably could have tolerated it if you’d just wanted to carouse, to sow some wild oats, but no, despite all the other very suitable matches you could have made, you snuck off to marry”—she paused, pursing her lips and shaking her head quickly as she decided what to call me—“
this
. And I was right. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. It’s positively shameful the way the two of you and that beastly Boyd fellow carry on. I despair of the grandchildren. Although, frankly, I’ve nearly lost hope in that regard. Perhaps it’s just as well.” She sighed and went calm again, smoothing her forehead and staring into the distance to revel in her victory. She’d successfully dressed down every other person in the room and thought it was now over: game, set, match.
    She was wrong. Had she looked, she’d have noticed that Ellis was turning a brilliant shade of crimson that rose from the base of his neck, spread beneath his blond hair, and went all the way to the tips of his ears.
    â€œLet’s talk about shame, shall we?” he said quietly, ferociously. “There’s absolutely nothing that I—or Maddie, or anyone else—could do to bring further shame upon this family. You”—his voice rose in a crescendo until he was shouting again, pointing his glass at his father and shaking it, sloshing whiskey onto the carpet—“shamed all of us beyond redemption the moment you faked those pictures!”
    The ensuing silence was horrifying. My mother-in-law’s mouth opened into a surprised
O
. The small crystal glass she’d been holding slipped to the floor and shattered.
    Tick, tock
went the clock.
    â€”
    This is the story as I’d heard it:
    In May 1933, an article appeared in a Scottish newspaper that made headlines around the world. A businessman (university-educated, the reporter was careful to point out) and his wife were motoring along the newly built A82 on the north side of Loch Ness when they spotted a whale-size animal thrashing in otherwise perfectly calm water. Letters to the editor followed describing similar incidents, and the journalist himself, who happened to be a water bailiff, claimed to have personally seen the “Kelpie” no fewer than sixteen times. Another couple reported that something “resembling a prehistoric monster” had slithered across the road in front of their vehicle with a sheep in its mouth. A rash of other sightings followed, sparking a worldwide craze.
    The Colonel, who had been fascinated since boyhood by cryptozoology, and sea serpents in particular, came down with a full-blown case of “Nessie Mania.” He followed the stories with increasing restlessness, clipping newspaper articles and making sketches based on the descriptions therein. He had retired from the military, and idleness did not suit him. He’d largely filled the void with big game hunting in Africa, but by then he found it unsatisfying. His trophy room was run of the mill. Who didn’t have a zebra skin hanging on the wall, a