and this case. I need to go home, but—”
“Why don’t you let me meet your Maggie tonight?”
“She’ll never agree to it.” Fia lifted her hand off the mouthpiece. “Ma, just a minute. I’m trying to figure something out.” She lowered the phone to her side.
Arlan could hear Mary Kay Kahill sobbing hysterically. “So we won’t tell her I’m coming. I’ll go to the meeting place, morph, check out the situation and then decide whether or not to attempt the meeting or not. If I don’t think it’s a safe bet, I’ll call you, you call her and tell her something came up.” He shrugged.
“I don’t know,” Fia hemmed. “She…she’s obviously scared. Brittle, I think. She has to be handled carefully.”
“Who better than me to handle an HF with kid gloves?” He raised his hands to her, fluttering his fingers, giving her his sexiest smile.
Fia spoke into the phone again. “Ma, I want you to go to the kitchen and make some muffins. Ma…yes, blueberry would be fine. Then cranberry nut. By the time you’ve got the second batch done, I should be almost home.”
Arlan opened the car door for Fia and she climbed in, cell phone still to her ear. “We’ll find him, Ma. I’ll go get him myself if I have to.” Another pause. “Ma, you know how he is. He exaggerates. I’m sure he’s just drunk. I’m sure he’ll call back tomorrow saying he’s fine and on his way home.”
Arlan got in the passenger’s side of the BMW. Both of his parents were dead and even after all these centuries, he still missed them. Sometimes he didn’t think Fia realized how lucky she was to have her parents, even if her father was a distant, self-absorbed alcoholic and her mother half crazy.
“I’m hanging up now, Ma. Hanging up,” Fia sang as she started the car, racing its engine. “See you in a couple of hours. Blueberry and cranberry.” She hung up.
“You’re a good daughter,” Arlan said.
She tore away from the side of the road, leaving rubber on the pavement, and the dead bodies being loaded into ambulances behind.
Macy left her car, unlocked, windows down, in the gravel parking lot of the state park. During the day, she imagined it was filled with minivans and SUVs; families on vacation or just celebrating a day in the sun. Unlike further north in Ocean City or Rehoboth Beach, there were no concessions, no stores lining the beach, on the Virginia Peninsula. Here were just miles of sand and ocean, for the most part, unblemished by condos, restaurants, and arcades. It was the perfect place for picnics, frolicking in surf, or simply reading a book to the rhythmic sound of the incoming waves.
But this late at night, with the park officially closed, there were no minivans, no families on vacation. The parking lot was empty except for two red porta-potties and a couple of overflowing trash cans.
Macy grabbed a hooded sweatshirt off the floor of her car, pulled it on, lifted the hood, and traipsed up the sandy dune crossing, over the crest of the man-made dunes. She had discovered this beach one day while driving south, after an assignment. Although it was on the ocean side of the highway, there was a scraggly woods line not far off the beach. Somehow, over millions of years, plants and trees had managed to evolve enough to live in the sandy soil, just a couple of hundred feet from the salty body of water. She admired those trees with their prickly needles, and the low-lying bushes with the spindly branches. They had managed to survive in adverse conditions. They had adapted.
Much in the same way Macy had adapted.
On the far side of the grassy dune, the beach stretched out to the north and to the south. As she had promised Fia, the moon was glowing bright over the ocean. But it was no longer full. Teddy had missed his mark. She crossed the clean beach, walking toward the water. She was early. It would be a few minutes before the FBI agent arrived.
Macy had checked into a hotel earlier and sat on the edge
“Why don’t you let me meet your Maggie tonight?”
“She’ll never agree to it.” Fia lifted her hand off the mouthpiece. “Ma, just a minute. I’m trying to figure something out.” She lowered the phone to her side.
Arlan could hear Mary Kay Kahill sobbing hysterically. “So we won’t tell her I’m coming. I’ll go to the meeting place, morph, check out the situation and then decide whether or not to attempt the meeting or not. If I don’t think it’s a safe bet, I’ll call you, you call her and tell her something came up.” He shrugged.
“I don’t know,” Fia hemmed. “She…she’s obviously scared. Brittle, I think. She has to be handled carefully.”
“Who better than me to handle an HF with kid gloves?” He raised his hands to her, fluttering his fingers, giving her his sexiest smile.
Fia spoke into the phone again. “Ma, I want you to go to the kitchen and make some muffins. Ma…yes, blueberry would be fine. Then cranberry nut. By the time you’ve got the second batch done, I should be almost home.”
Arlan opened the car door for Fia and she climbed in, cell phone still to her ear. “We’ll find him, Ma. I’ll go get him myself if I have to.” Another pause. “Ma, you know how he is. He exaggerates. I’m sure he’s just drunk. I’m sure he’ll call back tomorrow saying he’s fine and on his way home.”
Arlan got in the passenger’s side of the BMW. Both of his parents were dead and even after all these centuries, he still missed them. Sometimes he didn’t think Fia realized how lucky she was to have her parents, even if her father was a distant, self-absorbed alcoholic and her mother half crazy.
“I’m hanging up now, Ma. Hanging up,” Fia sang as she started the car, racing its engine. “See you in a couple of hours. Blueberry and cranberry.” She hung up.
“You’re a good daughter,” Arlan said.
She tore away from the side of the road, leaving rubber on the pavement, and the dead bodies being loaded into ambulances behind.
Macy left her car, unlocked, windows down, in the gravel parking lot of the state park. During the day, she imagined it was filled with minivans and SUVs; families on vacation or just celebrating a day in the sun. Unlike further north in Ocean City or Rehoboth Beach, there were no concessions, no stores lining the beach, on the Virginia Peninsula. Here were just miles of sand and ocean, for the most part, unblemished by condos, restaurants, and arcades. It was the perfect place for picnics, frolicking in surf, or simply reading a book to the rhythmic sound of the incoming waves.
But this late at night, with the park officially closed, there were no minivans, no families on vacation. The parking lot was empty except for two red porta-potties and a couple of overflowing trash cans.
Macy grabbed a hooded sweatshirt off the floor of her car, pulled it on, lifted the hood, and traipsed up the sandy dune crossing, over the crest of the man-made dunes. She had discovered this beach one day while driving south, after an assignment. Although it was on the ocean side of the highway, there was a scraggly woods line not far off the beach. Somehow, over millions of years, plants and trees had managed to evolve enough to live in the sandy soil, just a couple of hundred feet from the salty body of water. She admired those trees with their prickly needles, and the low-lying bushes with the spindly branches. They had managed to survive in adverse conditions. They had adapted.
Much in the same way Macy had adapted.
On the far side of the grassy dune, the beach stretched out to the north and to the south. As she had promised Fia, the moon was glowing bright over the ocean. But it was no longer full. Teddy had missed his mark. She crossed the clean beach, walking toward the water. She was early. It would be a few minutes before the FBI agent arrived.
Macy had checked into a hotel earlier and sat on the edge
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