The Killing Moon by Chuck Hogan

Author:Chuck Hogan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Drug Traffic, Police Procedural, Murder, Police Corruption, Mystery & Detective, Police - Massachusetts, General, Suspense Fiction, Thrillers, Suspense, Mystery Fiction, Fiction
ISBN: 9780743289658
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2007-12-31T05:00:00+00:00

36

TRACY

AFTER DR. BOLT HAD to leave in such a hurry, Tracy sat with Rosalie in the first stall. The old cowshed closest to the house was where she and her mother stabled late-term pregnant llamas and their newborn crias. Dr. Bolt's best estimate for Rosalie was two to three weeks, but given the llama's gestation of nearly twelve months, she could deliver at any time. Restlessness and fidgeting would be the first signs of early labor.

Tracy sat on a stool in the open stall doorway, eating a tuna fish sandwich for dinner and watching the contented mother-to-be sitting on her hay bed. Rosalie's brown cameloid face looked anything but restless. Tracy marveled at how peaceful and serene she appeared, her high neck so straight and proud. How fulfilled.

Living on a farm, Tracy came up against the reality of biology every day, in such a way that it was impossible not to dwell on her own animal nature. She thought about the tiny pouch of eggs she had been assigned at birth. A humble legacy dwindling month by month. She was still young enough that she shouldn't worry, but Mithers women were known for their frugality, and squandering a precious commodity such as that was like heating an unused room or listening to a leaky faucet drip, drip, drip.

Tracy had received "the Talk" in sign language. Never before or since had her mother seemed more deaf than at that moment. In need of a convenient visual aid, she had taken Tracy to see the giant gumball machine outside Wal-Mart on their monthly visit to Rainfield for supplies.

What would it feel like, she wondered, once that quarter was dropped into the slot? The bright pink ball spiraling down to click against her brass door.

She ignored the horn the first time. It honked twice more in succession, like a signal, and she put down her sandwich on its wax paper and closed Rosalie's stall door and went down the wood ramp. Her shadow stretched long across the chewed grass in the peachy, late-day light. Half hidden behind a handful of birches sprung up along the western fence was a parked car. A police car.

She ducked past the kitchen window in case her mother was there, then cut through the gate and ran along the fence. She tried livening up her hair with her fingers as she went, turning the corner and seeing Donny out of the car, waiting for her in the shade.

These days, it never even occurred to her to play hard to get. She ran up and kissed him and held him and rubbed his stubbled cheek. When he smiled, she kissed him again.

"Tuna fish," he said.

She covered her mouth fast. "Sorry!"

He shook his head, kissing the knuckles over her lips.

"This is a surprise," she said, holding him hard. "You look tired."

He glanced through the peeling white tree trunks at the house. "I only have a minute. Wanted to make sure you knew not to call me at the station."

"Okay."

"Too crazy there.

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