Down the Rabbit Hole

Down the Rabbit Hole by Peter Abrahams

Book: Down the Rabbit Hole by Peter Abrahams Read Free Book Online
Authors: Peter Abrahams
this weekend? She kind of thought so.
    Ty looked up. His gaze went right to her eye. He looked worried—was he thinking bye-bye to that Rolls-Royce or Maserati due on his sixteenth birthday? Nigel spotted a bagel half under the table—sesame—darted across the floor, and scarfed it up.
    â€œHis name is Nigel,” Ingrid said.
    â€œNigel? How do you know?”
    â€œBecause I named him.”
    â€œNigel? That’s the dumbest—”
    Mom came in through the door that led to the garage, carrying two pizzas from Benito’s.
    â€œIngrid! What happened to your eye?”
    Ingrid looked at Ty. She let a nice long pause go by, building suspense like a Hollywood pro. “I fell,” she said at last.
    â€œYou fell?”
    â€œPlaying with Nigel. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
    â€œWho’s Nigel?” Mom said.
    â€œThe dog, Mom,” Ingrid said, still watching Ty. “That’s the name we gave him, Ty and me.”
    â€œNigel?” Mom said.
    â€œIt was Ty’s idea, but I like it too.”
    Mom turned to Ty, surprised. “‘Nigel’ was your idea?”
    Ty’s face went through a bunch of expressions, all comical from where Ingrid sat. “Yeah,” he said.
    â€œTy was really psyched about it,” she said. “Weren’t you, Ty?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œTell Mom where you got the idea.”
    He was kind of squirming now. This must have been how it felt to be a grand inquisitor in the Spanish Inquisition: pretty damn good.
    â€œWhere I got the idea,” Ty said. He gazed downat Nigel licking sesame seeds off the tiles. “He…looks like a Nigel. Like, it fits him.”
    Mom bent down, getting a good close-up of Nigel. “You know something, Ty? You’re absolutely right. It’s perfect.”
    Her gaze shifted to Ty, seemed to be seeing him in a new light, as though she’d spotted some previously hidden talent.
    Mom opened the pizza boxes—a large pepperoni, olive, and garlic, and a medium arugula and goat cheese. “Someone call Dad,” she said.
    â€œHe’s not back yet,” Ty said.
    â€œFrom where?” said Mom.
    â€œHe had to go to the office,” Ty said.
    Mom lost track of what she was doing for a moment, as though hearing some distant sound, then finished serving out the pizza.
    Â 
    There were still two slices of the pepperoni when Dad came back, taking off his leather coat and saying, “Hi, everybody. That looks good.” He sat down opposite Ingrid. She waited for that piney smell to waft her way, but it didn’t.
    â€œYou had to go to the office?” Mom said.
    Dad nodded. “Ten-o’clock meeting tomorrow.Tim’s gotten interested in electroplating technology for some reason. There isn’t one company in the whole sector I’d put a dime into but—”
    Ingrid stopped listening. Murder one. The killers, those two drunks in the alley, were in jail, their fingerprints all over Kate’s place, their stories not adding up. And she had the red Pumas. So it was over, right? There was nothing to tell anybody ever.
    Except: The man who’d broken into Kate’s house, ducked under the police tape, and stood over the bed had been so quiet, whereas the drunks were noisy. Plus she hadn’t smelled any alcohol. But weren’t those just two tiny impressions she could have easily gotten wrong? And what did they add up to anyway compared to Chief Strade’s expertise? A feeling of relief should have been washing over her at this very moment. But it wasn’t. Ingrid would have given a lot to know if one of those men in jail owned Adidas sneakers spattered with green paint.
    â€œIngrid? I asked you a question.”
    Ingrid looked up. Dad was talking to her.
    â€œWhat happened to your eye?”
    â€œI fell. Out playing with Nigel.”
    â€œNigel?”
    Ingrid pointed under the table. Dad looked

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