Bone Harvest - Mary Logue [42]
It was hard to adjust when things changed so rapidly. She needed to get her mind ready.
She wasn’t bored with summer yet. If it were the end of summer, she would be ready to go and stay with them, but she still could think of so many things to do. She wanted to stay home. But looking at her mom’s face, she knew a tantrum would do little good. Claire was bustling about at top speed, making sure Meg hadn’t forgotten to take anything. Rich was nursing a cup of coffee and pretending to read the paper. But it was yesterday’s paper and he wasn’t turning the pages.
Meg decided to go along with the plans. She had a feeling her mom and Rich needed to have it out, and it might be easier for them to do that if she wasn’t there. She wanted to have Rich as the permanent guy-dad in life, but she wasn’t the one who had to marry him and pledge for better or for worse. She could only give her mom so much advice on these matters and then she was on her own.
Meg walked into the house and let the screen door slam behind her. A small protest. “Mom, how long am I staying for?”
Her mom stopped what she was doing, turned her head, and then said, “What?”
Meg knew the What? wasn’t a real one. It was a stalling What? She sat down on a porch chair and just looked at her mom, waiting for her to provide a real answer.
“How about a week?” Her mother looked over at her with her face slightly crinkled.
“That’s a little long.”
“Maybe it will be shorter.”
“You just want me out of here, don’t you?”
Her mom wiped her hands on her pants and walked over and sat down next to Meg. “In a way. I’m not going to lie to you. You know this job of mine is demanding sometimes.” She flicked back a strand of Meg’s hair. “We’ve talked about this. I need to focus on this case. People got hurt last night.”
“Poisoned?”
“It appears so.”
“Did anyone die?” Meg had to ask the question she had been framing since she woke up.
“No, just got very sick.”
“God, Mom, you almost drank that stuff.”
Her mother’s head jerked up. “Meg, don’t say that word.”
Meg clamped her hand over her mouth. How had that word come out? She had only said God a couple of times in her life, and then it had been around friends. But she knew she should never have even tried out the swear words. Once your mouth got used to saying them, you never knew when they might pop out. Words had a life of their own.
“I just don’t want you to worry,” her mother said.
“That’s stupid to tell me not to worry. It makes me know there’s something to worry about.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Mom. It’s okay. Will you promise to call every day?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Will you promise to let me come home as soon as I can?”
“Yes, the very moment.”
Meg felt her mother’s arms fold over her the way the wings of a mother bird covered her young. But she didn’t sink into the embrace and close her eyes and cuddle. She kept watching—because there was something out there that was trying to get them all.
Five people were poisoned in the Fort St. Antoine park as people gathered to watch the Fourth of July fireworks. It appears that the lemonade sold at one of the concessions had been spiked with a toxic product, possibly a pesticide. The sheriff’s office believes there might be a connection to the pesticides that were stolen on July first.
“How’s it coming?” Sarah popped her head in his office door. They were on a tight deadline. Usually they didn’t have breaking news that needed to go above the fold on the front page. It meant a major reordering of all the other articles.
“I’ll have it done,” Harold promised.
With that, Sarah returned to the outer office.
Harold paused in his typing. Maybe he should have let Sarah write the lead article. He could work on layout and she could interview him as a material witness. Harold still remembered the weight of Andy Lowman as he fell into his arms. It was urgent that this piece get finalized in the next hour, but Harold felt his mind wander into the past to another Fourth of July celebration.
Sitting at his desk with a pile