A Girl's Guide to Guns and Monsters - Martin Harry Greenberg [30]
“Mmmh.” I spotted the coffeemaker. My throat was on fire, I blinked at the light falling through the kitchen window. “What’s for dinner?”
I didn’t care, but if she thought I’d be here, it was all to the good.
“Spaghetti bolognese!” Mom swept a hand back through her freshly washed hair. The morning sunlight was harsh. Even foundation couldn’t hide the deep cracks in her face. “Listen, Becky, did you hear anything last night?”
My heart about stopped in my chest. I covered it by stamping for the fridge and opening it up. Cold air bathed my feverish skin. “Nope. Other than Kate snoring. Why?”
“Your father swears he heard a prowler last night.”
My heart leapt up into my burning throat. I wished she’d go so I could pull the blinds. It was too goddamn bright in here, even though the sunlight dimmed. “Really?”
“I told him he was being ridiculous. But he swears. Be sure you keep the doors locked, okay?”
“I will.” I got out the orange juice and shut the fridge door. “We might go to the pool today.”
“It’s hot enough. They say there’ll be thunderstorms this afternoon, though. It’s already cloudy. Well, ciao, darling! You should get your hair cut, you know.”
Just like Mom. I muttered an agreement, and she pranced out.
As soon as the garage door closed and the sound of the Volvo’s engine faded, Kate peered around the corner into the kitchen. I rubbed at my throat. “She’s gone.” I didn’t have to work to sound tired. “Get ready to go.”
“Are you sure?” Blue eyes wide and luminous, she blinked furiously. I didn’t blame her, it was bright as hell in here. The sunshine dimmed still more as clouds moved across the bright sky.
“Of course I’m sure. Take a shower and put on something with long sleeves.” I thought about it for a second, then yanked the fridge open and dropped the OJ back in. “I’ll find us some shades.”
Edgar’s body was still a slimy, stinking mess. The dowel in his chest had been wrenched out, but Ms. Cooke was nowhere in sight. I didn’t stick around, just grabbed the car keys from the coffee table and headed back outside.
The Lincoln Continental’s interior smelled like baby powder. It started with a swift sweet purr and I backed out, nosed down the street to a patch of deep shade under a cedar tree. Kate was there, in a long-sleeved thermal shirt and jeans. The sunglasses were blank holes on her pale face. Behind my own shades my eyes stung furiously, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The weird green-yellow bruiselight of a storm approaching made the maroon paint on the car look diseased.
I popped the trunk and Kate piled our bags in. I leaned over to unlock the door, and a roll of cash in my right pocket dug into the inside crease of my hip. The rest of the money from the safe was in my purse, thrown on the floor in the back.
The gun was under the driver’s seat. I took the extra bullets too. You never know.
Kate dropped in and slammed the door, mopped at her sweating face. “Thirsty.” An angry red flush had crawled up her cheeks from the sunshine. But the windows were tinted, and the light didn’t hurt from in here, even when the clouds pulled back a little and the street melted under the weird flat illumination right before a storm really hits.
My throat was a furnace. It made my voice husky. “Me too. We’ll drive for a while. Tonight we’ll find something. To, um, drink.”
It stood to reason that soon we’d start sleeping during the day. Sleeping like the dead. I’d figure something out then. I was sure of it.
“You sure?” She rubbed her pale wrist against her jeans. Under the thermal’s cuff, the puncture wounds had vanished. The ones on my arm were closing up, and the ones on my throat looked days old instead of fresh. I’d tried a swallow of Coke this morning and almost threw up. I knew what I wanted, and I knew we’d find it.
“Yeah.” I reached over and grabbed her hand. She slid her fingers through mine. Even though we were both