my mind's interpretation of what Marty must have looked like when the killer had finished with him. Maybe I shouldn't have gone back to bed, but since I'd gotten only a couple of hours of sleep, I'd figured that some rest was better than none. I wanted to be rested before having to face either my brother or looking at my cousin's dead body.
But rest was not what I'd gotten. Instead, my brain kept replaying my nightmare, only this time, every time I tried to leave, Marty appeared in front of me, miles of plastic tubing emerging from his body, filled with his blood and dripping on the floor. I'd try to push the table out of the way, but every time I grabbed the edge, Marty sat up and told me that I was trapped and I had to take the blood.
On the third or fourth round of this gruesome cycle, I woke up. A deafening clap of thunder knocked me out of dreamland and into the damp early afternoon of the same awful day. So much for a restful sleep.
I took my time showering and getting dressed. I didn't want to face the reality of being awake. Maybe if I stayed home and didn't talk to anyone, this whole thing would go away.
But the world intruded when I walked into the living room. My brother was sitting in my easy chair, a mug in his hand and an easy grin on his face.
"Hey there,” he said. “Good coffee."
He nodded toward the answering machine, which was blinking malevolently on its small stand. “You've got messages."
"You listened to my messages?"
He shrugged. “Not exactly. I've been here for a few hours. I didn't want to wake you up. I heard the messages when they called."
I took the cup from my brother and sank into the couch across from him, slugging down a healthy dose of caffeine. He was right—it was good coffee.
"Who called?"
Tucker frowned. “Bea called, three times. Then your old friend, the sheriff. Did I hear him right? Is Marty dead?"
I nodded. “Yeah, Carlton stopped by earlier to tell me. The cleaning service found him."
"Dead how?"
"Murdered."
The word sounded so blunt, so final.
"Any ideas?"
I shook my head. “No, I was going to go over there, to—"
"Look at the body?"
More blunt words.
"Yeah."
"Good idea. Want me to come with you?"
I looked at him relaxing in the chair, all denim shirt, chinos and topsiders, six-foot-four pale-faced pseudo-yuppie sporting a braid longer than Willie Nelson's and a history longer than most European countries. No one looking at him now would be able to guess his true nature. He really was my favorite brother.
I smiled a little. “Yeah, I'd love it if you came with me."
He smiled back. “Anytime you're ready."
I drained the remains of the coffee and stood up. “Tell you what, let's stop by Bea's first and get food before we go to the Sheriff's office. I need a little fortification."
Tucker grinned as he followed me out the front door. “Oh yeah, there was one more call."
I glanced over my shoulder as crossed the porch. My brother's grin widened.
"Adam Walker. Wanted to know about dinner."
Oh, great. Another complication I didn't need right now.
"Did he leave a number?” I asked, ignoring my brother's silent, but obvious question.
"I already programmed it into your cell phone."
He ducked as I swung my backpack at his head.
I gave in and told Tucker about seeing Adam last night. Although he hadn't been in England while I was there, he knew about what happened with Gideon. Tucker had been the only member of my family to listen to me when I'd come back. It still hadn't stopped him from emigrating, though.
"I agree with Bea,” he said.
"What?” I grunted as I pulled into the caf? parking lot.
"Go out with the guy, see what happens."
"Shit, don't you start,” I said. “Besides, we need to find out what happened to Marty before I think about anything like a date."
Tucker smiled as he unfastened his seat belt. “That wasn't a ‘no'."
"It wasn't,” I said. “But it wasn't an ‘I'm going to jump his bones’ either. Let's just get
But rest was not what I'd gotten. Instead, my brain kept replaying my nightmare, only this time, every time I tried to leave, Marty appeared in front of me, miles of plastic tubing emerging from his body, filled with his blood and dripping on the floor. I'd try to push the table out of the way, but every time I grabbed the edge, Marty sat up and told me that I was trapped and I had to take the blood.
On the third or fourth round of this gruesome cycle, I woke up. A deafening clap of thunder knocked me out of dreamland and into the damp early afternoon of the same awful day. So much for a restful sleep.
I took my time showering and getting dressed. I didn't want to face the reality of being awake. Maybe if I stayed home and didn't talk to anyone, this whole thing would go away.
But the world intruded when I walked into the living room. My brother was sitting in my easy chair, a mug in his hand and an easy grin on his face.
"Hey there,” he said. “Good coffee."
He nodded toward the answering machine, which was blinking malevolently on its small stand. “You've got messages."
"You listened to my messages?"
He shrugged. “Not exactly. I've been here for a few hours. I didn't want to wake you up. I heard the messages when they called."
I took the cup from my brother and sank into the couch across from him, slugging down a healthy dose of caffeine. He was right—it was good coffee.
"Who called?"
Tucker frowned. “Bea called, three times. Then your old friend, the sheriff. Did I hear him right? Is Marty dead?"
I nodded. “Yeah, Carlton stopped by earlier to tell me. The cleaning service found him."
"Dead how?"
"Murdered."
The word sounded so blunt, so final.
"Any ideas?"
I shook my head. “No, I was going to go over there, to—"
"Look at the body?"
More blunt words.
"Yeah."
"Good idea. Want me to come with you?"
I looked at him relaxing in the chair, all denim shirt, chinos and topsiders, six-foot-four pale-faced pseudo-yuppie sporting a braid longer than Willie Nelson's and a history longer than most European countries. No one looking at him now would be able to guess his true nature. He really was my favorite brother.
I smiled a little. “Yeah, I'd love it if you came with me."
He smiled back. “Anytime you're ready."
I drained the remains of the coffee and stood up. “Tell you what, let's stop by Bea's first and get food before we go to the Sheriff's office. I need a little fortification."
Tucker grinned as he followed me out the front door. “Oh yeah, there was one more call."
I glanced over my shoulder as crossed the porch. My brother's grin widened.
"Adam Walker. Wanted to know about dinner."
Oh, great. Another complication I didn't need right now.
"Did he leave a number?” I asked, ignoring my brother's silent, but obvious question.
"I already programmed it into your cell phone."
He ducked as I swung my backpack at his head.
I gave in and told Tucker about seeing Adam last night. Although he hadn't been in England while I was there, he knew about what happened with Gideon. Tucker had been the only member of my family to listen to me when I'd come back. It still hadn't stopped him from emigrating, though.
"I agree with Bea,” he said.
"What?” I grunted as I pulled into the caf? parking lot.
"Go out with the guy, see what happens."
"Shit, don't you start,” I said. “Besides, we need to find out what happened to Marty before I think about anything like a date."
Tucker smiled as he unfastened his seat belt. “That wasn't a ‘no'."
"It wasn't,” I said. “But it wasn't an ‘I'm going to jump his bones’ either. Let's just get
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