Page 85 of Evil Bones
I pictured Bear and the other animals found nailed to trees, their faces painted and glittered, their features stretched into macabre expressions.
I saw Eleanor Godric, the cemetery burial. The mixed bag of bones from Steven’s Creek Nature Preserve. The man and dog hanging in Cordelia Park.
I heard voices.
Ralph Balodis explaining the use of a scanner.
Adina Kumar predicting the doer’s escalation.
Sister Adelbert describing a man wearing shorts.
Jordan Allen Bright telling his dog, Millie, not to bite Slidell.
Hugh Norwitz and what Slidell called his erotic taxidermy hobby.
Other players in my nocturnal operetta came from closer to home.
Slidell, still obstinately focused on sex offenders.
Katy, off to South Carolina to comfort a client.
Ryan, arriving on Sunday.
Ruthie, moody, but apparently happy here. Katy told me that Kit had phoned to report his daughter’s desire to spend her senior year in Charlotte.
I rendered only one opinion on that, saying it was a big step. A decision that was up to Katy, Ruthie, and her father. Or was that two opinions?
Birdie lay silently curled at my side. I reached down to stroke his head. He didn’t withdraw, nor did he crank up his usual low-pitched buzz.
The cat seemed unhappy with me. Or was I imagining censure where none existed?
My thoughts drifted back to Ruthie. To our Red Rocks meal with her UNCC friend Lester Meloy.
Meloy had been a charming and witty dinner companion. His enthusiasm for his—in my opinion somewhat esoteric—research was endearing.
Then why had the encounter with Meloy left me feeling uneasy? Was the guy’s speech too glib? His charm too slick?
Or was I being overly critical because of Meloy’s connection to my niece? Though a few years older than Ruthie—living the grad school versus the high school chapter of life—he seemed interested only in mentorship. Perhaps friendship.
The black rectangle that was my front-facing window unexpectedly oozed to gray.
I glanced at my bedside clock.
The glowing digits said 4:17.
What the hell?
Before I could cross the carpet for a peek outside, headlights slashed the darkness around me. Shadows elongated and veered sharply.
Then, as quickly as it had brightened, the room dimmed again.
I lay with my heart beating a wee bit faster.
Who would be mounting the circle drive at this hour?A doomsayer gaggle of brain cells demanded.
Not your business.A more rational cluster replied.
My neighbors’ well-being is my business.
