Thicker Than Blood - the Complete Andrew Z. Thomas Trilogy - Blake Crouch [171]
It would be so beautifully lethal.
Maxine sat in a corner reading At Home in Mitford.
Luther was crouched over a sheet of copper.
"Pop, what’d you do with the hacksaw? I have one more cut to make, and I can’t find it."
"Haven’t seen it."
"Mom, you haven’t touched it?"
Maxine peered over the top of her book.
"Do I look like I have any use for—"
"Oh, no."
"What?" Rufus said.
Luther stood up.
"You don’t think our visitor took it?"
"No."
"Well, do you see it here? I didn’t take it. You didn’t take it. Mom sure as hell didn’t take it."
"Watch that language, boy."
"The fucker"—Luther glanced at his mother—"didn’t walk off."
"Beautiful, were they all chained up when you fed them this morning?"
"Gee, Sweet-Sweet, I don’t remember. I wasn’t really paying attention. What kinda question is that? Of course they were."
"We better go check on them, son."
Rufus and Luther were halfway through the doorway when they heard the dingdong.
The doorbell had been recently wired to a speaker near the stairs and they stared at it in amazement as it dingdonged again.
Beth froze, watching the Kite family emerge into the corridor. She did not move for fear the chain would clink against the stone or they would hear her footsteps. She wondered if the darkness were sufficient to hide her, should one of them happen to glance back in her direction.
The young man, the old man, and the old woman walked up the corridor away from her, guided by the light of a lantern.
The young man carried a shotgun.
The dingdong echoed again through the darkness.
In the orange illumination of the lanternlight, Beth saw them turn and disappear. She thought they had swung around into another passageway until the sound of their footsteps reached her.
They’re climbing stairs.
And knowing she’d found the way out, she crept after them.
58
RUFUS alone answered the door with a bright toothless smile that never faltered, even when he saw the badge. Two men stood facing him on the stoop, the sun in their eyes, just moments from sliding behind the house on its way into becoming a puddle of light in the Pamlico Sound.
The one with the badge was a big bear of a man in a JC Penney’s suit that should’ve been donated to the Salvation Army years ago. His hair was frosting, mustache just as dark and thick and pure as a stallion’s mane. The curly-haired man standing behind the cop looked half his age—mid-twenties, lean and tall, wearing jeans and a pinstripe button-down, with the eyes of a dog who’d been kicked.
The cop closed his wallet, dropped it back into his pocket, said, "Mr. Kite, my name’s Barry Mullins. I’m a sergeant with Criminal Investigations Division in Davidson, North Carolina. Could I come in for a moment?"
"Absolutely."
Rufus opened the door wide and stepped back.
Sgt. Mullins whispered to his companion, "Max, please, just go and wait in the car. It would be—"
Max walked into the house.
Sgt. Mullins frowned and followed.
Rufus closed the door, the three men standing now in the dim foyer, the house perfectly quiet.
"Get you gentlemen a glass of iced tea?" Rufus offered.
Sgt. Mullins shook his head.
"Your wife at home, sir?"
"She’s out running an errand."
Sgt. Mullins motioned to the long living room.
"Let’s have a seat in there, Mr. Kite."
On her way to the stairs Beth stopped and looked inside the room where the Kites had been hammering and jawing and sawing. Tools littered the floor. A bare light bulb burned her eyes, humming directly above what all the ruckus must’ve been about—a rude chair in the final stage of construction, with copper plating along its armrests and front legs, numerous leather restraints, and thick copper wire coiled in the dirt beside it. The thing had an undeniable presence. As the architecture