Page 21 of The Sister's Curse
Maybe having the full attention of a misguided mother was worse.
The road eventually led to a warehouse-like building surrounded by a concrete parking lot. In the background stood a one-story office building, and assorted chemical tanks connected by catwalks. By the gatehouse, trucks moved over scales, hauling materials in and out. The river stretched behind the gatehouse, at the end of a field of grass and scrub trees—the same river slicing through the backyard of the church just a few miles downriver…
Small world. It was like that sometimes, working in small towns. Everybody knew everyone. Sometimes it made investigations easier, because everyone was all up in everyone else’s business. Other times, they closed ranks and no one talked. I wasn’t sure which would be the case in this investigation.
I parked and rolled down the window, waiting for Monica, figuring she’d probably stopped for snacks at a gas station. The air here had a faint, artificially sweet odor. The site was very orderly—concrete and metal and glass. No weeds grew in the pavement cracks. The cars were late models with thin layers of dust obscuring their shine.
I stared out at a nearby dumpster. Just beyond it, something dark twitched and turned on the sizzling pavement. An animal?
I frowned, got out of my car to check. I couldn’t leave an animal in trouble. I advanced on the dumpster. Beside it, a snake lay. A banded water snake. Harmless.
But it was in distress. Its jaws opened and closed, and its sides heaved. Its tongue dangled from its mouth, and it flipped and seized. It was about three feet long, with no wounds I could discern. The eyes were a peculiar milky color. And the scales weren’t right.
I reached out to pick it up, to move it to the cooler grass. Its scales didn’t feel soft and supple, the way snake scales should. These were brittle and curling. Didn’t look like the snake was shedding.
I placed the snake on the grass. It seemed to sink into the green, as if it exhaled in relief. It lifted its head toward me, unseeing, then lowered its face to the ground. It stilled, and I was certain it was dead. Maybe it had waited to feel the coolness of something more natural than concrete on its belly.
I looked south, toward the river. This was a long way for a water snake to be from water. Water snakes ate fish and frogs. I wondered how it had come to be here. Did it find something in the trash that hurt it? But that made no sense. It wouldn’t eat anything from there.
I gently picked up the snake again. I sniffed at it like Gibby would. I got a scent of something sweet, like the early stages of decomposition. It had been sick for a long time. I tucked its limp body under my arm. I popped open the hatchback of my SUV and gently put it inside. It deserved a burial, not to be left to rot with the trash.
When I closed the back, Monica rolled up into a spot next to me. Her hand stuck out, and a fancy iced coffee with whipped cream appeared before me.
“Ooh, thanks.” I grabbed the drink and slurped down the icy goodness. Dealing with death always made me hungry, even when I was a child. Maybe it was some effort to assert to the universe at large that I was still alive in the most primal way I could, with sugar. “I wondered where you went.”
“Needed caffeine.” She crinkled a plastic bag. “Chips?”
“Yeah.” I reached in for the chips.
When we’d drained our drinks, we hiked over to the gatehouse, in which a uniformed security guard looked upon us with suspicion until we flashed our badges and said we had an appointment with Jeff Sumner.
“Just making sure you’re who you say you are,” he said.
“How long has the plant been operational?” I asked, trying to make light conversation.
“Since 1963. Jeff’s grandfather built it. Back then, production was high and the plant employed over a thousand people. There’s a lot less demand today, though. We’re down to five hundred. Too much competition from imports.”
A door to the gatehouse opened, and a young woman in a hard hat approached us. “Detectives? I’m Mr.Sumner’s assistant, Miri.”
She extended her hand as we introduced ourselves. Miri was in her mid-twenties, conventionally attractive, and wore a tailored blouse and trousers with her steel-toed shoes.
“Pick a hat and come right this way, please.”
Monica and I grabbed from a shelf blue hard hats withVisitorprinted on them, then followed her through the door and down a concrete pathway to a low building. Summer heat radiated from the concrete path. There was some traditional landscaping here, a weed-free carpet of grass and severely clipped hedges. The holly was browning on the top. Drought had reached even this artificial scenery.
Miri led us into an air-conditioned lobby. She removed her hat, and we did the same. We went down a corridor and turned right, into a plush office with carpeting and mahogany trim. A floor-to-ceiling window showed the plant in the background, and a massive desk with three computer monitors stood before it.
Jeff Sumner stood to shake our hands. “Thank you for coming. Please have a seat.”
Monica and I seated ourselves in chairs across from his desk. The leather squeaked uncomfortably.
“Would you like coffee? Water?” Miri asked.
We declined, and Sumner shook his head. Miri left us andclosed the door. I noticed she left it open a crack. Eavesdropping, perhaps?
Monica clasped her hands in front of her. “We’re very sorry about this situation. Clearly, this would be difficult for anyone in your position.”
“It’s all wrong.” His eyes were red.
