A Cruel Light by Cyndi MacMillan

Author:Cyndi MacMillan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

CHAPTER

15

I’D MADE SOME progress with the tree. Its right side had been cleansed from its root to its top branch. I’d focused on the second girl. Additional cleansing revealed the oddity of her clothing. I couldn’t tell if she was dressed in an oversized coat or a badly hand-knit sweater. White? Symbolic or realistic? The sleeves were long, as if the girl wore a hand-me-down. The look of horror on her miniaturized face was the stuff of nightmares and would give Edvard Munch’s The Scream a run for its money.

Hunger annoys me. It interrupts my work and forces me to change gears. I checked the weather and put on an additional layer. I’d just opened the door, when the phone rang. I read the number and sighed. “Can I call you back?”

“Not until you tell me why my mom-dar is going off the charts.”

I weighed my options. If I told her too much, I’d be on the phone for hours, but If I kept her in the dark, and she heard the news elsewhere, she’d obsess and worry herself to death. “Here’s the short version. An arsonist is setting fires, but I’ll be finished with my work here in a few days and—”

“And!”

And I’m attracted to the cop in charge of the case. “The authorities are all over this. The parsonage is under police protection. I’m safe, okay?”

“Mm-hmm. I’m beginning to wonder about the long version.”

“Mom, I need to cut this short. I skipped lunch.”

I heard a pen clicking. Something she did when she felt confused or overwhelmed. “I know you can take care of yourself. I’m just a worrywart.” She sniffled. “Honey? You’re a resilient, capable powerhouse, and I’m proud of you.”

My eyes teared. “As soon as this is all over, I’ll come for a visit. Promise.”

Before something else delayed me, I scooted out the door but paused long enough to wave to Constable Patel. The street was quiet. As I drove, I noted the reduced traffic. People were not venturing far. I passed several seniors sitting on their front porches, watching and waiting. They sensed a face-off approaching, felt its inevitability.

Take-out seemed the best option, so I parked at the Lucky Dragon Palace. I placed an outrageously large order, so there’d be leftovers for days. I let the cashier know I’d return in twenty minutes. Across the street from the restaurant, there was a village green. A flock of geese jam-packed its small pond. I recognized the man whittling on one of the benches. He did not look happy. His Scottish terrier, however, wagged its tail enthusiastically as I neared them. I sat down beside Mig Daybutch. The dog licked my hand, and I petted its head, smiling as it flopped down at my feet with a snort.

Mig kept carving, his movements agitated. “Same crime. Same mistakes.”

“Mistakes?”

“Barb Martin. So help me, if I hear she was harassed—””

“She isn’t a suspect.” Had I said too much?

“Cops know that some kids are plain evil.” He turned to me. “But Barb Martin was a caring, gentle girl, and she would not protect the butcher who killed our friend.

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