Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [529]
“Can’t we just talk for a while?” she insisted. And he thought her voice sounded whiny. He hadn’t noticed before how whiny her voice was.
He scooped up a spoonful of soup and held it in front of her, waiting for her to open her mouth. She only stared at him.
“Open wide,” he instructed.
She continued to stare.
He brought the spoon to her lips and began to wedge it in, but she kept her lips pursed tight. Suddenly she jerked her head away to the side, so abruptly that she almost knocked the spoon out of his hand and did end up spilling it on his shirtsleeve.
He tasted the bile again. Oh, God! He couldn’t be sick. He felt his face grow hot. But he scooped up another spoonful and held it in front of her again.
“Come on, now, you have to eat.”
She turned her head slowly to look at him, this time the glaze clearing a bit, revealing her defiance.
“Not until we talk.”
“Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he told her, continuing to keep his happy voice, despite the turmoil brewing in his stomach. “Now, open up.”
He brought the spoon to her lips again, but this time she raised her restrained hand just enough to knock his elbow. It spilled all over his trousers. He’d have to change before work.
He rose slowly to his feet, taking his time to roll up the soiled sleeves of his shirt. A difficult task when his hands were shaking and his fingers were balling up into fists. He could feel the transformation, a lead-hot iron stabbing into his guts. And he could see the transformation in the way she looked at him. Whatever drugged courage had possessed her was gone now. She struggled against the restraints, kicking at the chair legs and smacking the ankle shackles against the wood, leaving more grooves in the precious wood.
“I guess you’ve chosen to do this the hard way,” he said through gritted teeth. This time he left the spoon on the tray, and he picked up the bowl of soup.
CHAPTER 40
West Haven, Connecticut
Maggie wasn’t sure what she was doing here. There were other places she needed to check out, coincidences she needed to follow up on. Like Jacob Marley Jr. and whether or not anyone called him Sonny. Or if Wally Hobbs’s contract to dig graves for the funeral home had anything to do with Steve Earlman not staying buried. Not to mention the address she had found imprinted on Joan Begley’s hotel notepad, and whether or not it was the meeting place for a rendezvous that may have been her last. There were plenty of places where she needed to look for answers and she wasn’t sure this was one of them. Yet, here she was at the University of New Haven.
The aroma filled the classroom laboratory. Maggie thought it smelled like beef broth. And annoyingly good. Professor Adam Bonzado stood over the industrial-size stove, lifting the lids of several steaming pots, stirring one with a wooden spoon before replacing the lids and turning down the gas flame. Today he wore a purple-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt with blue jeans and high-top sneakers. His plastic goggles were down around his neck, sharing swing space with a paper surgical mask. He glanced at her over his shoulder. Then did a double take, surprised to see her.
“You’re early,” he said.
“I didn’t have as much trouble finding the campus as I thought I might. Would you rather I go wander and come back?”
“No, no, not at all. I’ve got lots to show you.” He checked the pots one more time and turned to give her his attention. “Welcome to our humble lab.” He waved a hand over the area. “Come take a look.”
Maggie let her eyes take in the shelves of specimen jars and vials, odd assortments and sizes, some makeshift baby-food jars alongside bell jars and pickle jars with scientific labels covering the name brands. From a corner came the soft whirr of a dehumidifier. The room felt cool, and beneath the aroma of soup broth there was a trace of cleaning supplies, perhaps a hint of ammonia. The countertops