Page 126 of Sharp Force
He follows me into the kitchen, and I find a can of his cat food. Spooning it into his bowl, I set it down on the floor. He won’t touch it or take his eyes off me.
“How about you come with me, Merlin?”
I tuck my gun back into a pocket.
“We’ll make a quick stop in the greenhouse for things you don’t like to eat. Tomatoes, cucumbers, a sweet onion, some basil. And then we’ll go to the house, and you can lounge in front of the fire.”
He follows me as far as the front door but refuses to go a step further.
“Okay then. You leave me no choice.”
Bending down, I remove his collar, setting it on the table by the door.
“I won’t have you wandering around at night on your own. Eat your dinner, Merlin. And I’ll be back.” I reset the alarm. “Lucy probably won’t be home, and I don’t want you all by yourself over here.”
The greenhouse at the back of the garden is maybe fifty feet from Lucy’s cottage. I follow the walkway, motion sensor lights blinking on. The refurbished Victorian glass structure is dark except for the purple glow of the UV light over my sister’s luxurious marijuana plants.
As I get close, I can make out the shadowy shapes of vegetable beds, the small citrus trees in big terra-cotta pots, the towering wire trellises for tomato vines, snow peas, cucumbers, peppers. Reaching the door, I notice the slide bolt is open. Possibly I forgot to lock it several days ago when I was last here.
Turning the handle, I open the door to a wave of loamy warm air. I find the switch from the overhead light at the same instant I realize I’m not alone.
Huffing…
Grunting…
As I’m seeing the carnage.
The vines ripped off trellises.
Bits and pieces of raw vegetables and blood oranges on the concrete floor.
“Who’s in here?” I have my gun ready. “Come out with your hands up! Don’t make me shoot you!”
Then I see him peeking out at me through cannabis leaves like something in a Tarzan movie.
Similar to an orangutan but smaller, he has short dark orange hair, his face reminding me of a chimp, his keen brown eyes humanlike.
“Okay, it’s okay,” I say in a soothing voice as fear shocks through me.
Three monkeys escaped a research lab not far from here. Two were recovered. A third named Peanut is still at large last I heard. He moves away from my sister’s tall pot plants, his hair flaring a fiery red in the overhead glow of ultraviolet.
“It’s okay,” I say to him while envisioning the residue from Georgine Duvall’s murder.
He huffs and grunts, watching me activate the SOS features on my phone. I talk to him in a calm voice that belies what I’m feeling.
“Peanut, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m your friend.” I say that again and again.
He must weigh at least a hundred pounds and has sharp incisors. I don’t like the way he’s grinning at me. Now panting and hooting. My call to 911 begins to ring…
“I believe your name is Peanut.” I talk to him gently. “That’s what I heard on the news.”
He chatters and gestures.
“Don’t be afraid, Peanut.” My pistol is pointed down at the floor. “I’m here to help you.”
He swings closer on his front knuckles and back legs. The fluorescing red residue dims and vanishes as he moves away from the UV light.
My call to 911 continues to ring…
