after her: “Mrs. Drilling.”
She stopped and glanced back. “Yes?”
“What was your maiden name?” I already knew, of course, but for some reason I wanted to make it official.
“O’Brien,” she said after a momentary pause. “Why?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I was just curious. Lead on, Jenny O’Brien.”
She started to speak, maybe to protest the familiarity, but then she laughed instead, and climbed into the pickup. I tested my sticky club once more, glanced at the Volkswagen more or less hidden among the trees, and went over and climbed into the trailer and closed the door. I heard the big truck engine start, up forward, and we were off.
It was a rough ride in the swaying, bouncing house trailer. Some plastic dishes almost clobbered me, spilling out of a high cabinet above me; and I could hear various foods and spices rubbing elbows behind the little doors that remained closed. It occurred to me to wonder if there might not be a nasty chemical reagent in there, somewhere, perhaps disguised as cooking oil or pancake syrup. The empty acid bottle I’d seen in Elaine’s room wasn’t proof that the entire supply had been used up. If there had been some left over, after Greg’s treatment it could have been poured off and stored in a different container.
It didn’t take me long to find it since the container had to be a rather special one—the stuff would go right through metal or plastic. A nice little salad-dressing jug with a glass stopper caught my eye almost at once. A drop of the contents on my finger sent me hurrying to the sink to wash it off; it wasn’t olive oil.
I looked at the deceptive little bottle grimly. I guess I was kind of disillusioned. Somehow I’d got to thinking that Genevieve Drilling might possibly be just a nice, misunderstood lady after all. I considered pouring the stuff out and replacing it with water, just in case it might be used against me some time, but that’s the kind of tricky protective maneuver that’s apt to backfire, warning the subject that you’re hep at just the moment when you’re finally getting somewhere.
I also considered just diluting the reagent so it wouldn’t be quite so powerful, but my chemistry is sketchy. I did remember that if you went about mixing it with water the wrong way it would spatter all over you, but I couldn’t remember which was the right way, so finally I just stuck the bottle back among the groceries where I’d found it, the way I’d found it. I had just got the cupboard doors closed when our motion stopped.
Cautiously, I peeked out the side window, between the slats of the Venetian blind, and saw a blue lake lined with pines and firs. We seemed to be parked in a meadow that ran down to the shore. My pretty, freckled, truck-driving, acid lady had cut the switch, and the engine was silent. In accordance with my instructions, she didn’t come back to keep me company, which was just as well. I might not have been able to resist the temptation to ask her to make me up a salad with her special dressing.
We just waited for visitors in our separate compartments, out there by the lake in the still Canadian forest, and after a while they came.
“In the truck, there! Hey, lady, wake up!” It was half a shout, half a hoarse, secretive whisper, from the edge of the nearby woods. I didn’t risk showing myself at the window again. I just crouched near the trailer door, waiting. “All right, lady, now open both cab doors and get out so we can see what you’ve got in there... That’s right. Just stand right there. One false move and the girl gets this knife right in the kidney. Okay, Mousie, go check the trailer.”
I heard Genevieve’s voice, with a nice edge of panic. “There isn’t anybody in the trailer.”
“There’d better not be. Go on, Mousie.”
“Wait!” She sounded terrified. She was doing swell. I reminded myself that, where deceit was concerned, she’d had a professional instructor named Ruyter, and some
She stopped and glanced back. “Yes?”
“What was your maiden name?” I already knew, of course, but for some reason I wanted to make it official.
“O’Brien,” she said after a momentary pause. “Why?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I was just curious. Lead on, Jenny O’Brien.”
She started to speak, maybe to protest the familiarity, but then she laughed instead, and climbed into the pickup. I tested my sticky club once more, glanced at the Volkswagen more or less hidden among the trees, and went over and climbed into the trailer and closed the door. I heard the big truck engine start, up forward, and we were off.
It was a rough ride in the swaying, bouncing house trailer. Some plastic dishes almost clobbered me, spilling out of a high cabinet above me; and I could hear various foods and spices rubbing elbows behind the little doors that remained closed. It occurred to me to wonder if there might not be a nasty chemical reagent in there, somewhere, perhaps disguised as cooking oil or pancake syrup. The empty acid bottle I’d seen in Elaine’s room wasn’t proof that the entire supply had been used up. If there had been some left over, after Greg’s treatment it could have been poured off and stored in a different container.
It didn’t take me long to find it since the container had to be a rather special one—the stuff would go right through metal or plastic. A nice little salad-dressing jug with a glass stopper caught my eye almost at once. A drop of the contents on my finger sent me hurrying to the sink to wash it off; it wasn’t olive oil.
I looked at the deceptive little bottle grimly. I guess I was kind of disillusioned. Somehow I’d got to thinking that Genevieve Drilling might possibly be just a nice, misunderstood lady after all. I considered pouring the stuff out and replacing it with water, just in case it might be used against me some time, but that’s the kind of tricky protective maneuver that’s apt to backfire, warning the subject that you’re hep at just the moment when you’re finally getting somewhere.
I also considered just diluting the reagent so it wouldn’t be quite so powerful, but my chemistry is sketchy. I did remember that if you went about mixing it with water the wrong way it would spatter all over you, but I couldn’t remember which was the right way, so finally I just stuck the bottle back among the groceries where I’d found it, the way I’d found it. I had just got the cupboard doors closed when our motion stopped.
Cautiously, I peeked out the side window, between the slats of the Venetian blind, and saw a blue lake lined with pines and firs. We seemed to be parked in a meadow that ran down to the shore. My pretty, freckled, truck-driving, acid lady had cut the switch, and the engine was silent. In accordance with my instructions, she didn’t come back to keep me company, which was just as well. I might not have been able to resist the temptation to ask her to make me up a salad with her special dressing.
We just waited for visitors in our separate compartments, out there by the lake in the still Canadian forest, and after a while they came.
“In the truck, there! Hey, lady, wake up!” It was half a shout, half a hoarse, secretive whisper, from the edge of the nearby woods. I didn’t risk showing myself at the window again. I just crouched near the trailer door, waiting. “All right, lady, now open both cab doors and get out so we can see what you’ve got in there... That’s right. Just stand right there. One false move and the girl gets this knife right in the kidney. Okay, Mousie, go check the trailer.”
I heard Genevieve’s voice, with a nice edge of panic. “There isn’t anybody in the trailer.”
“There’d better not be. Go on, Mousie.”
“Wait!” She sounded terrified. She was doing swell. I reminded myself that, where deceit was concerned, she’d had a professional instructor named Ruyter, and some
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