by Kathy Reichs
“If Karsten had evidence against us, he’d have used it. So long as we keep quiet”—I glanced at the puppy—“and Coop out of sight, we’ll be safe.”
There. That sounded confident.
As though on cue, Coop scampered over and nudged Shelton for an ear scratch. When Shelton obliged, the puppy rolled tummy-up and wagged his tail. He was so adorable I could throw up.
“What’s next for the wolfpup?” asked Ben.
“We start looking for a home.” Though I hated giving Coop up, he was a smoking gun. If Karsten spotted him, we’d wind up in juvie.
“We need someone trustworthy,” I said. “Outside the city. Somewhere Karsten will never stumble across him.”
“What about Heaton?” Shelton asked. “I don’t have plans for tomorrow, but I’d like a heads-up if we’re going to rob a bank or something.”
“Hilarious,” I said. “You should write for The Simpsons.”
“I’ll think about it,” Shelton said. “Heaton?”
“The fingerprint is our only lead. If that bombs, I’m out of ideas.”
“Relying on Chance Claybourne.” Ben shook his head. “Great.”
“He’s not so bad,” Shelton said. “For a trust fund baby.”
“Goodbye.” Hi stood. “I’m hitting the rack before I feel worse. I’m paranoid enough as it is.”
I was on the same page.
The boys ruffled Coop’s fur as they trooped outside. He whined, but curled on his cushion. In moments he was sleeping.
We’ll need a door soon, I thought. Any day now Coop will be bounding through the dunes. A good problem.
“Sweet dreams, little guy.”
I followed the others out into the night.
CHAPTER 37
Saturday arrived with heavy storm clouds. I waited for Kit to leave, then vaulted from bed.
And found a note taped to my door. Kit wanted to “chat” right after work.
Great. Fun times ahead.
Whatever. Today I’d enjoy some quality time with Coop. We’d have to ship him off soon. I planned to soak up as much puppy love as I could.
A light drizzle began as I pedaled to the bunker. Picking up the pace, I rounded the last dune, dropped my bike, and scampered toward the entrance.
From nowhere, a gray blur shot from the bushes and tangled my legs. I tripped and landed in a patch of myrtle. The shape streaked into a stand of sea oats and disappeared.
Heart hammering, I looked around. Through the silky stalks, I could see a small gray snout pointed at me. Skinny legs. Floppy ears.
Seconds later, Coop pounced on my ankle, snarling and tugging.
“How did you get out?” I scratched his head. “You’re supposed to be resting!”
Coop nuzzled my hand, ears flapping all wrong, eyes twinkling with spirit. Yipping a mock threat, he dropped his head onto his forepaws and raised his rump in the air.
“Did Uncle Hiram let you run free? Or did you go walkabout all on your own?”
I pushed Coop inside the bunker and followed. No sign of Hi, though he’d promised to help disinfect.
“Okay, little buddy. Looks like it’s just you and me.”
Coop rolled to his back. I rubbed his tummy, delighted all signs of illness appeared to be gone.
“Time to sterilize this joint.”
Coop’s body would shed virus for another week. Since he’d be contagious, we had to make sure the disease didn’t spread.
Using a bleach solution, I doused the walls and wiped down the furniture. Then I bagged Coop’s blankets for laundering.
Outside, I poured bleach on Coop’s “potty patch.” Not ecofriendly, but parvovirus can survive in soil for up to six months. I didn’t want some dune-walking beagle picking up the disease.
Coop lay curled in the corner, ignoring my Clorox binge.
I’d just finished swabbing the floor when dizziness swept through me. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.
The vertigo worsened.
I began to cough. Slowly at first, then in rapid, choking hacks. The spasms sent pain firing through my skull. My eyeballs throbbed. Hot tears poured down my cheeks.
Must be the fumes. Get fresh air.
I lurched for the entrance.
Consciousness wobbled. The room tilted like a ship at sea. I felt a curious lightness, then something hard against my face. A small corner of my mind understood I’d fallen to the ground.
Seconds passed. Hours?
Reality drifted back into focus.
I became aware of a giant pink slug attached to my nose.
“Bleah!” I swatted weakly. “Enough!”
Coop withdrew his tongue. Retreated. Barked.
Food now. Can.
“Okay. One sec.”
My head was still spinning and my mouth tasted like metal. Ignoring ladylike decorum, I hawked a loogie on the floor. The sour tang remained.
I struggled upright, my brain feeling like twisted spaghetti.
Gasp.
My breathing was all over the map.
The second attack struck.
A cerebral boom dropped me to my knees. I felt pressure. Pain. Cold sweat.
I went flat again.
Eventually, the fit passed and my wits returned.
“What the frick?”
I braced for a third wave.
Nothing.
I rubbed my temples, then probed my body for damage.
All my parts were where they belonged.
And I felt perfectly fine. Energized even. Stronger. Sharper. Like I’d chugged a double espresso.
Same as on the boat. What the hell?
Coop yapped, loud and insistent, then stood on his hind legs and pawed my side.
“I know.” I scratched his ears. “You want the canned food.”
Feeding Coop was easier than thinking, so I opened a can and spooned the contents into his bowl. I was about to place the food on the floor when a message clicked home from my crazy detector.
“Holy crap!”
I stared at Coop.
Coop stared at me.
No way.
“Did you talk to me?”
As soon as the words escaped, I felt ridiculous. Coop didn’t know English, hadn’t spoken out loud. A dog doesn’t have the vocal cords needed for human speech.
But the puppy had done ... something.
True, my memory was cottage cheese. But a gut feeling persisted: Coop and I had connected on some level.
Coop cocked his head, whined, then nose-nudged my hand. My delay in serving was unappreciated.
I set the bowl aside, cupped Cooper’s head between my palms. Spoke slowly.
“Did you place a lunch order? In my head?”
Whine. Slurp.
Stop acting loony. You passed out. It was a dream.
Shaking my head, I gave over the bowl. Coop pounced. Tail wagging, he inhaled his lunch in hungry gulps.
“Sorry, boy,” I cooed, stroking his back. “Mommy’s hallucinating.”
Hi’s no-show worried me. It wasn’t like him. Could he be sick again, too?
Belly full of brown glop, Coop conked out. Minutes later I was bouncing up the Stolowitski’s front steps.
Two knocks. No answer.
I waited, knowing Ruth’s routine of checking the whole planet before opening the door.
A curtain flicked. Chains rattled. Locks clicked.
“Bubbala!” Ruth’s hug pulled me through the door. “Would you like something to eat?”
For a moment I tensed in Ruth’s embrace. Thoughts of Mom flashed through my head. When was the last time I’d been hugged? Kit and I certainly weren’t there yet.
I ducked that train of thought. Now was not the time.
“No thanks,” I said, quickly disengaging. “Is Hiram in?”
“Tsk.” Ruth was a world-class tsker. “He’s lounging in his room. Such a slugabed.” Loud, directed up the staircase. “Get him to do something productive with his Saturday. For a chang
e!”
“Will do.”
Hi’s door opened before I could knock. Motioning me inside with sharp, quick gestures, he closed it and flopped into his barcalounger, breathless and pale.
My stomach tensed at seeing his condition.
“You look terrible,” I said.
“Trust me, I feel worse. My head’s pounding like a Lady GaGa song.”
“Me too.” I told him about my breakdown, leaving out the canine telepathy. I needed answers, not stares.
“Did you faint again?” I asked.
“No.” Hi dodged my eyes. “I’ve had ... other problems.”
I motioned for him to continue.
“Let’s call it ‘plumbing,’ and leave it at that. Don’t tell my mother. You know how she gets.”
“No problem. But I’m worried we caught a bug.”
“Have you checked with Shelton?”
I shook my head. “Next stop.”
“We’ve probably got the plague,” Hi moaned. “Should we bite the bullet and see a doctor?”
“Let’s see how the others are first. Stay online.”
“I’ll be here.” He pointed at his bathroom. “That toilet’s the center of my universe.”
Ugh. TMI.
I rang the bell at the Devers house, two doors down.
No response.
I rang again.
No one home.
I was texting Shelton when I noticed Ben on the dock, fixing Sewee’s lines. I walked down to him.
“Hey,” I called. “You still feeling okay?”
“Yep. Why wouldn’t I?”
I told Ben about my fainting spell and Hi’s discomfort. He stepped back and covered his mouth with one hand.
“I’ll keep my distance. I’ve got enough problems.”
“Thanks. Your sympathy is underwhelming.”
But Ben’s lack of symptoms reassured me. If he was okay, what was affecting Hi and me could be routine.
“Just tweet if you start feeling bad,” I said.
“Fine. Now scram, carrier monkey. I’m not shopping for swine flu.”
“I hope you get what Hi’s got,” I shot back, then turned toward my house.
Nap time.
CHAPTER 38
My nap wasn’t to be. Kit hadn’t gone to Loggerhead after all. When I returned, he was lurking in the living room, armed with questions that couldn’t wait.
“Tory. Sit.” Patting the sofa cushion beside him.
Game face. I couldn’t reveal my condition. Paranoid about his lack of parenting skills, Kit might overcompensate with medical attention. I wasn’t getting shipped to a doctor today. Too tired.
Ignoring his gesture, I crossed to a wing chair and sat, cross-legged.
Kit allowed my small rebellion to slide. “The last few days have been crazy,” he said. “Truth now. What’s going on?”
The question irked me. Why the sudden interest in my life?
“I already explained. If you want the details, ask your pal Karsten.”
Low blow, but I didn’t care.
“I don’t like what happened any more than you do.” A flush spread Kit’s face. From anger? Embarrassment? Who knew?
Awkward silence. Then, “I’m trying to help.”
“Why?”
“I’m your father.”
“Thanks, Kit”—emphasis on the name—“but you’re a bit behind schedule. The interrogation was yesterday. Too late to play super-dad now.”
Kit looked as though he’d been slapped. I felt awful. Why was I being such a bitch?
“Tory, I apologize.” He sounded genuinely sorry. “I wasn’t aware you’d be grilled like a suspect. I wouldn’t have allowed it.”
That seemed to require no response, so I gave none.
“I know I can’t replace your mother. I’m doing the best I can.”
Silence. This time, because I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“I’ll file a complaint on Monday,” Kit said. “Dr. Karsten’s actions were totally inappropriate.”
“No!”
My stupid mouth might get Kit in trouble.
“It’s no big deal. I promise.” I moved to the couch, gave my best plastic smile. “I’m just being a brat. Please don’t make waves at work.”
“You looked petrified in that conference room. Karsten should not have questioned you alone.”
“I overreacted.” Nonchalant shrug. “Karsten’s done with us anyway.”
“It’s up to you, Tory.”
“Really. I’d rather just move on.”
Kit’s face relaxed, and his usual self-deprecating humor returned. “Just as well. I’d probably cause more problems than I’d solve.”
I smiled for real. Kit was pretty likeable when just being himself. And, to be fair, I was the main reason he rarely could do that.
“But you will explain your whereabouts these last few days.” Kit assumed a parental tone. “Spill. Start with this dog festival.”
I tiptoed through the past week’s events, sticking to the gang’s agreed upon version. It was hard to believe that seven days earlier I’d never heard of Katherine Heaton.
Kit listened, asked a few questions, seemed to accept my story. He shook his head when I’d finished.
“Sounds like you’ve had a rough patch. And I missed it, always being at work. I’m sorry I let you down. I promise to be more available in the future.”
“Hey, no sweat.”
“As soon as I complete these salinity tests,” he said, “we’ll do something together. Deal?”
“Deal.” Like what? “I’m just tired now. I’m going to catch a nap.”
“Fine. Whitney’s coming for dinner, so don’t disappear.”
Great. The last thing I needed.
“Maybe tonight isn’t the best—”
He waved off my objection. “I’ve already invited her; I’m not canceling now.” Kit’s eyes grew almost plaintive. “She not that bad, right?”
“She’s not trying to train you like a dancing bear.”
“Ha!” Kit snorted. “Shows how much you know.”
Except for the chink of utensils, dinner progressed in silence. I made no move to break it, knowing her ladyship would start in on me eventually.
I wondered how she’d go about it. Obliquely, by casually mentioning some new dresses she’d seen? Or directly, with a pass hurled straight at the numbers.
One thing was certain: Whitney would take aim. I was her new Barbie doll. She wanted to dress me up and star me in her games.
And I was definitely sick. Headache. Fever. Runny nose. Nausea.
Survive the meal. That’s all.
Whitney had prepared our dinner at home. As I ate, I fantasized her drive to Morris from Tradd Street. I imagined slammed brakes, a slopping kettle, shrimp and grits splattering her immaculately detailed Mercedes and Laura Ashley sundress.
Uncharitable? Sure. But the image tickled me.
Normally I eat like a heavyweight in training. That night the thought of food turned my stomach.
The nap hadn’t gone well. As soon as my head hit the pillow, the room started spinning. My gut roiled. Every few minutes, I’d crawled to the porcelain god in terrible anticipation. After the final purge, I’d gone fetal in bed until Kit summoned me to dinner.
So I rearranged the contents of my plate without eating, hoping that Whitney would spare me out of some cosmically transmitted pity.
No such luck.
“Tory! Good news!” Whitney’s drawl was pure Southern belle.
My heart sank.
“The committee has agreed to consider your application for next season’s cotillion. You’re as good as in!”
They already agreed? She hadn’t even asked my permission!
Whitney continued, oblivious to the dismay on my face.
“Even better, you can attend this year’s functions as a junior debutante. Isn’t that just the best?”
They will never find her body.
“That sou
nds wonderful,” Kit said. “You can hang out with your classmates.” His next words came in a rush. “I went ahead and signed you up.”
Signed me up? What the hell was he thinking? I opened my mouth to protest, but my body had other plans.
Points of light exploded behind my eyelids. Invisible centipedes crawled over my skin. My muscles burned. Then froze. I felt my body topple, my head strike the hardwood.
Then Kit was at my side. “Tory, what’s wrong? Talk to me!”
My mind was wrapped in fog. I fought to clear it. I had to escape before I crashed for good.
“I’m fine.” Shaking Kit off, I got to my feet. “What a klutz. I slipped off the chair. Stupid, huh?”
Kit’s eyes were round. Whitney’s were rounder.
“Should I call a doctor? Or Lorelei?”
“No!” I shooed Kit away. “Too much sun, that’s all. I’ll just lie down.”
Whitney threw an I told you so look at Kit. “The poor thing needs feminine activities. Too much running wild through the dunes with boys.”
Kit raised a quieting hand. “Now’s not the time—”
But Whitney on a mission is an unstoppable force. Her sights were trained on me.
Stepping around Kit, she grabbed my hand in hers. “Just attend Wednesday’s dance, sugar. No strings. I know in my heart you’ll adore it.” Honey dripped from her voice. “It will do you oodles of good.”
I hadn’t the strength to fight her.
“Whatever. But now I need sleep.”
“Okay, kiddo, go take it easy.” Kit ruffled my hair, a rare display of fatherly affection. “I’ll check on you later.”
“I hope you feel better, darling.” Whitney’s smile was triumphant. “You’re going to love the party. I promise!”
I climbed the stairs on trembling legs, anxious for escape.
CHAPTER 39
I tried to flee, but my feet were lead.
My pursuers thundered closer, faceless monsters determined to make me their lunch. My legs flailed uselessly, giving up ground.
Desperate, I dropped to hands and knees. My hips and spine realigned. Bones bent and shifted. My arms and legs thickened with muscle.
On all fours I took off like a shot, leaving the demons behind. I tore across the grass, wind whistling past my ears.
The ecstasy of pure speed ripped a sound from my throat.
