Page 153 of Cold, Cold Bones
“Can’t talk.”
“Tell Slidell to lose the big daddy act.”
“What?”
“I don’t need a guardian.”
“Meaning?”
“He put Henry on me.”
“I doubt that.”
“Is Henry part of the operation?”
“Not here at the trailer. She’s with one of the search teams in Charlotte.”
“What’s happening where you are?”
“Surveillance. Can’t light the place up if there’s a chance the kid’s inside.”
“Anyone present?”
“There’s a truck parked beside the trailer. The overheads are on inside. Gotta go.”
“Be safe.”
“Always.”
I sat there, antsy as hell, the subliminal voice at it again. Intangible as smoke, steady as a beeper.
What had re-triggered it? Fear for Olivia? Guilt that I was ground zero for the whole ugly mess?
Or was my id whining about something more immediate? The snub by Slidell? The argument with Ryan? The call from Henry? The fact that she was out being useful while I was home sitting on my ass?
A tiny blip jiggled the needle.
Henry?
If not at Slidell’s bidding, whyhadHenry phoned me? To share new intel?
Unlikely after eight on a Saturday night. Besides, Henry was busy searching playgrounds and dumpsters, praying she wouldn’t find a child’s corpse. Praying she would?
Unlike me. Sitting vigil with a cat.
Hour after hour, the phone didn’t ring.
To occupy my mind, I chose an utterly inane activity. After testing dozens of ringtones, I programmed my mobile with the theme song fromBonanza. What could go wrong with Pa and the boys by my side?
I was heading upstairs when a tune rolled off the Ponderosa.
It was well past eight.
On a Saturday night.
34
“No joy,” Ryan said.
