Evil Genius by Catherine Jinks

Author:Catherine Jinks
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

THIRTY

No one stared. No one stopped him. He might have been invisible, for all the notice he attracted.

With a dry mouth and a hammering heart, he wandered down to the street, pausing every so often to peer into the kind of shop windows that he usually ignored—windows full of lingerie, jewelry, scented soaps, floral cushions. He wasn't sure if anyone was following him. He thought not.

Once on the street, he turned left and headed for the station. The air was full of grit. He felt strangely exposed after the bright, enclosed world of the mall, but the eyes of the people he passed simply slid over him. His skirt swished around his ankles: a very peculiar sensation. He could taste lipstick.

When he reached the station, he bought a ticket from a machine. Every platform was crowded with people, but the train that he caught wasn't very full. Though he moved from carriage to carriage, no one seemed to be dogging his footsteps. After about forty minutes, when he finally reached his stop, he sat by the door until the last possible moment.

Only as it was sliding shut did he suddenly fling himself out onto the platform, nearly knocking down an elderly lady.

He would have apologized, if he'd trusted his voice. But he couldn't. So he brushed past her rudely and bounded up the stairs to the street, two at a time. He saw Chinese families, slouching skateboard riders, a woman with a baby in a stroller—nothing suspicious. Weatherwood House was a half-hour walk away, down a very long road. He had checked his street directory before coming; he knew exactly what to do.

It was overcast, though dry. The walk seemed endless. On and on he went, tripping sometimes on the badly maintained pavement, barely noticing the apartment blocks and brick-veneer houses that lined the road on each side. At one stage he thought he'd reached Weatherwood House, only to discover that he was looking at a nursing home. And Weatherwood House, when he finally got there, wasn't at all what he had expected. Somehow he hadn't pictured so many entrances and exits—so many signs: VISITOR PARKING, AMBULANCE ONLY, and KYLE MANLY WING. There were trees and a big white house, but the photograph on the website hadn't encompassed all the glass breezeways, parking lots, ramps, patios, and ugly additions.

He didn't dare hesitate, however. He had to look purposeful. Briskly, he crossed the front lawn and headed for the nearest entrance, which was the door to an enclosed verandah. The verandah contained all kinds of odd chairs, a wicker side table stacked with boxes of jigsaw puzzles, and an electric urn—but no people. From one end of this airy but slightly depressing space, a pair of double doors opened into a wide hallway. Here everything looked far less run-down. There was carpet on the floor and a plant in a pot. Bright pictures hung on the wall, interspersed with several bulletin boards. A faint smell of cooking lingered in the air.

"Can I help you?" a female voice inquired.

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