Page 49 of Cold, Cold Bones
“He can’t see the turtle. It’s buried in snow.”
“He knows it’s there. Don’t you see?”
I didn’t.
“We’d barely ventured out to build a snowman when Finlay started to cry. That’s not right.”
“No. It’s not.”
“He’s a sensitive child.”
He’s a nutcase. Or you are.
“Have you secured the note from Finlay’s doctor?” I asked.
“I will.”
“I look forward to seeing it.”
Firmly but quietly, I closed the door.
Thirty minutes later it happened again.
“Goddam it!” Glancing up, then sheepishly hurrying to open the door.
“Oh my god, Katy.”
“You don’t sound thrilled to see me.”
“Campbell just came by.”
“He still being a jackass?”
“That’s not fair to donkeys. How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
“Are you serious?”
“A few streets are cleared. Not many. But, hey, there’s no such thing as bad weather, right?” We spoke the last sentence together. “Only improper clothing.”
“Come in.”
She stomped each foot to shake off the snow, then bent to unlace her boots.
“Want lunch?”
“Hell, yeah.”
Katy’s face was flushed from exertion and cold, her hair tousled from yanking off her hat. The mix of red and gold looked spectacular. As did her smile.
My heart soared to see it.
“Ham and cheese or tuna?” I asked.
“I have choices?” One corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “I’m stunned.”
“I buy groceries.” Faux offended.
