Bone Harvest - Mary Logue [24]
She wondered what it was like for kids who had sisters and brothers. She found it hard sometimes not to have anyone to talk to about all the things that worried her. It was a big responsibility to be an only child. And it only made it worse when her dad died. Now her mother was totally her concern.
She decided to call Rich. He would understand. Knowing Rich, he might even be able to help.
He answered the phone. “Haggard’s Pheasants.”
She said, “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Pop.”
“Pop who?”
“Popsicle.”
There was silence for a moment; then he asked, “Did you make that one up, Megsly?”
“Yup. Just for you.”
“I’m honored.”
“Mom’s not home yet.”
“Another long day?”
“Yeah, she called and said she’d be home soon. She said I could come home and let myself in and wait for her.” Meg was done with her Popsicle. She stretched out flat on the cool stone floor of the porch. She stared up at the overhead fan, which was a blur above her head.
“Good.”
“I heard about the chickens.”
“News travels fast around here.”
“What are you doing to protect your pheasants?”
“Staying put.”
“But what about tomorrow—the Fourth of July? What about our barbecue and the fireworks?”
“No one would do anything on a holiday.”
“Bad guys take days off?” she asked. “Are you kidding me?”
“I am kidding you. But I’m serious when I say that I’m not too worried about my birds. I don’t think this guy is after me. I don’t think he’s after all the poultry in the county. I think he’s got something else in mind.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure, but whatever it is, your mom will figure it out.”
Meg thought for a moment. “My mom is really smart, but she doesn’t know everything. She makes mistakes, too.”
“Of course she does. But I think this guy wants to be stopped.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s leaving clues.”
Meg liked the idea of the clues. It made it more like a Nancy Drew mystery, something that could be solved and then everything would fall into place.
“You know that I’m going to my grandparents this summer.”
“Yeah, when?”
“Not sure, but, I just want to be sure that you’ll keep an eye on Mom. I didn’t want her to know that I’m worried, but I am.”
Rich didn’t say anything for a moment; then he cleared his throat. “I will keep an eye on her. You know you can count on me. But I know she wants you to have a good time on your trip and not to worry about her.”
“I’ll try.” Meg was glad she had said it. But once was enough. You didn’t need to repeat things with Rich. He got them the first time. “I think it’s going to be hot tomorrow. It’s hot today.”
“It’s supposed to be hot on the Fourth of July. With plenty of mosquitoes and maybe even a thunderstorm thrown in.”
“No thunderstorms. Just fireworks. That’s enough.”
CHAPTER 8
Often Earl Lowman dreamed of lakes—deep, clear, sweet-sprung lakes. But when he woke, as he did on this hot July day, he was still in Tucson, Arizona—108 degrees at midday—where the one river that had once flowed through the town, the Santa Cruz, had dried up long ago, and the water table was dropping inches a year, causing the ground below his house to sink.
He turned his head on his pillow and read his alarm clock—5:07 A.M.—noting that it would go off in eight minutes. If he wanted to take a walk, he had to get up. Once the sun rose at six, it rapidly got too hot to be outside. He threw the sheet off his legs.
But the dream of the lake held him in bed for another few minutes. He thought of wading up to his waist in Lake Pepin; he remembered jumping off the old oak tree that bent over the Rush River and plunging into the spring-fed waters. He would love to swim again in fresh water.
Most afternoons Earl wandered down to the community pool and swam a few laps, but it was not the same. The water was chlorinated and way too