read Inquirer . I let it ring. A few seconds later, the number of voice mails changed to thirty-seven. The phone rang again. New York Post .
Hugging my robe tight around me, I started pacing. The phone kept ringing. I realized my feet hurt. I settled on the couch and studied my toes. They were bruised and swollen, and my baby toes had raw places where my shoes had rubbed off the skin. While I undertook the podiatry investigation, the phone rang another three times.
“Stupid shoes,” I muttered. “All that money and the heel breaks—”
Which took me right back to a vision of blood-smeared muzzle and red teeth as the werewolf leaped at me. I shuddered and tears burned my eyes. Snatching up the phone, I called my parents’ house. Still no answer. That could only mean Dad was on an airplane coming to me. That made me feel a little better, but I wanted to talk to somebody.
I called Mom. She and my little brother were in Paris on Charlie’s Congratulations! You Graduated From High School trip.
“Linnet, hello ,” my mother’s odd intonations and emphasis on the wrong syllables came through the phone.
“Mommy.” The word emerged thick and tear filled. “I’m okay.”
“Well, why wouldn’t you be? My big grown- up girl with a job .”
I wasn’t feeling teary any longer. I was remembering why my mother drove me crazy. “Didn’t Daddy call you?”
“Yes, and called and called, but Charlie and I were exploring the flesh pots , and I didn’t want to be disturbed, so I didn’t answer .”
I tried to figure out what “exploring the flesh pots” meant and then decided I didn’t really want to know.
“Did something wonderful happen ?” my mother trilled.
“No, something horrib—”
“Paris is won derful, darling. You should have postponed starting work, and come with us.”
“Mommy, listen!”
“I am listening, dear. OH WAITER, ANOTHER CHAMPAGNE, si’l vous plait. ”
“My boss was murdered last night. I almost got killed.” I was shouting into the phone. This was always how things ended up between us. Why had I called?
“Oh, my dear, how terrible for you. Let’s not dwell . We’ll talk of pleasant things. The new exhibit at the Louvre is wonderful.”
“I don’t care about that!”
“Linnet, really. What do you expect me to do? We can’t just pack up and come home. This is your brother’s graduation present. How selfish of you.”
Charles Grantham Ellery. Little brother. Big pain. The beloved male heir. He had been born eight months before I was sent away to the Bainbridge house. In those first lonely weeks in the Sag Harbor house, I had wondered if my parents had given me away because now they had a boy. I was older now, and intellectually I knew that was silly, but that little girl deep inside me still felt like I was second best.
“He’s going to be eighteen in three weeks,” I muttered resentfully. “He could manage on his own. In fact he’d probably be glad not to have his mother along.”
“Which is precisely why I can’t leave ,” my mother said in an odd moment of clarity. I had to admit she had a point. For the golden child, Charlie managed to fall into shit piles with astonishing regularity. “Oh, here, your brother wants to talk to you. Should we get a little tray of olives?”
“What?” And then I realized she wasn’t talking to me.
Charlie came on the line. “Hey, sis, what’s up? Are you once more a chaos magnet?” His cheerful voice crossing thousands of miles had me torn between wanting to cry and wanting to bite his head off—it wasn’t fair that he was having fun.
The snark won out over family affection. Somebody needed to suffer as much as I was, and my mother was clueless. “Charlie, it wasn’t like that. I was so scared and it was so awful. He was literally torn apart. There was so much blood.” My voice started shaking and my words were thick with tears. What had started out as spite became an actual need for comfort.
“Whoa, whoa,
Hugging my robe tight around me, I started pacing. The phone kept ringing. I realized my feet hurt. I settled on the couch and studied my toes. They were bruised and swollen, and my baby toes had raw places where my shoes had rubbed off the skin. While I undertook the podiatry investigation, the phone rang another three times.
“Stupid shoes,” I muttered. “All that money and the heel breaks—”
Which took me right back to a vision of blood-smeared muzzle and red teeth as the werewolf leaped at me. I shuddered and tears burned my eyes. Snatching up the phone, I called my parents’ house. Still no answer. That could only mean Dad was on an airplane coming to me. That made me feel a little better, but I wanted to talk to somebody.
I called Mom. She and my little brother were in Paris on Charlie’s Congratulations! You Graduated From High School trip.
“Linnet, hello ,” my mother’s odd intonations and emphasis on the wrong syllables came through the phone.
“Mommy.” The word emerged thick and tear filled. “I’m okay.”
“Well, why wouldn’t you be? My big grown- up girl with a job .”
I wasn’t feeling teary any longer. I was remembering why my mother drove me crazy. “Didn’t Daddy call you?”
“Yes, and called and called, but Charlie and I were exploring the flesh pots , and I didn’t want to be disturbed, so I didn’t answer .”
I tried to figure out what “exploring the flesh pots” meant and then decided I didn’t really want to know.
“Did something wonderful happen ?” my mother trilled.
“No, something horrib—”
“Paris is won derful, darling. You should have postponed starting work, and come with us.”
“Mommy, listen!”
“I am listening, dear. OH WAITER, ANOTHER CHAMPAGNE, si’l vous plait. ”
“My boss was murdered last night. I almost got killed.” I was shouting into the phone. This was always how things ended up between us. Why had I called?
“Oh, my dear, how terrible for you. Let’s not dwell . We’ll talk of pleasant things. The new exhibit at the Louvre is wonderful.”
“I don’t care about that!”
“Linnet, really. What do you expect me to do? We can’t just pack up and come home. This is your brother’s graduation present. How selfish of you.”
Charles Grantham Ellery. Little brother. Big pain. The beloved male heir. He had been born eight months before I was sent away to the Bainbridge house. In those first lonely weeks in the Sag Harbor house, I had wondered if my parents had given me away because now they had a boy. I was older now, and intellectually I knew that was silly, but that little girl deep inside me still felt like I was second best.
“He’s going to be eighteen in three weeks,” I muttered resentfully. “He could manage on his own. In fact he’d probably be glad not to have his mother along.”
“Which is precisely why I can’t leave ,” my mother said in an odd moment of clarity. I had to admit she had a point. For the golden child, Charlie managed to fall into shit piles with astonishing regularity. “Oh, here, your brother wants to talk to you. Should we get a little tray of olives?”
“What?” And then I realized she wasn’t talking to me.
Charlie came on the line. “Hey, sis, what’s up? Are you once more a chaos magnet?” His cheerful voice crossing thousands of miles had me torn between wanting to cry and wanting to bite his head off—it wasn’t fair that he was having fun.
The snark won out over family affection. Somebody needed to suffer as much as I was, and my mother was clueless. “Charlie, it wasn’t like that. I was so scared and it was so awful. He was literally torn apart. There was so much blood.” My voice started shaking and my words were thick with tears. What had started out as spite became an actual need for comfort.
“Whoa, whoa,
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